The Power of the Mind
by Landstradd
Summary: The Sorting Hat serves more purposes than is apparent. One of them is as a safe guard against abusive families. What changes might be wrought from this? Rated for coarse language and mild violence.
1. A Sorting to Remember

**Disclaimer: It's Rowling's playground, I just enjoy it. I own none of the characters, locations, and other such things that make up Harry Potter's universe.**

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**A/N: As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review. **

**This is a major revision of my first story, The Sorting Hat's Stand, which will be taken down when I reach the point in the revision of the last written chapter. Though most of the changes so far will be rather liberal application of the big rules of writing: "Show, don't Tell" (though it is generally harder before I take a bat to canon and force a divergence), combined with some general corrections of my abuse of my native tongue. Also, trying to pare down the author's notes. This will probably be the largest for a good long while. **

**The basis of this story is DrgnMstr's Sorting Abuse Challenge, with my notes on how I am handling the conditions in italics:**

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**What if the Founders had their own ideas on how to protect students? What if the Sorting Hat was the "spokesperson" for Hogwarts herself? What if all students were scanned by the hat for any problems as they came in and were sorted? This might wake some people up, or cause problems for plans people may or may not have made. Conditions:**

**1.) At Harry's sorting, the Sorting hat notices the abuse Harry had gone through at home. Abuse can be canon (neglect and emotional at the very least) or fanon (varying degrees of physical and/or even sexual). It immediately calls a halt to the sorting, calling for Madam Pomfrey and the head of the DMLE and will not sort anyone else until they arrive. **

_**(I most definitely do this.)**_

**2.) There is no way to get around contacting these people (I leave it up to you to figure out how). **

_**(Again done.)**_

**3.) Only when Harry is in the hands of Law Enforcement and the Healers will sorting continue. **

_**(I take it a bit farther, but the spirit of the rule is held.)**_

**4.) Dumbledore can be blind good guy or Dark Lord or anything in between. **

_**(Still not sure how badly Dumbles is going to be in the end, but most probably somewhere in between, he just doesn't care about what happens to Harry in the end. It is all for the Greater Good after all.)**_

**5.) Harry must get free of the Dursleys for this, they cannot escape punishment. **

_**(Gleefully done.)**_

**6.) Ships can be any, but 3-some with Hermione and another person or Multi preferable (helping to show him love). Ships can be very slow to begin with. **

_**(As this is a suggestion, it is getting ignored, possibly for now. The ship being spotlighted at the Tri-Wizard arc may or may not be final.)**_

**7.) Harry should get other help from Hogwarts/Sorting Hat throughout his schooling.**

_**(This most definitely happens.)**_

**8.) Horcruxes okay, but NO HARRY HORCRCUX. Mother's protection will not allow it.**

_**(There may still be 'Cruxes, but to sum up my thoughts on this Tom's attempt for immortality: "Not just one path to victory, but all possible paths.")**_

**9.) Please, no Deathly Hollows.**

_**(Hollows as a prominent subplot is going to be a whole different story.)**_

**10.) No evil!Harry, Grey!Harry or Light!Harry preferable, so long as good sided.**

_**(Harry is definitely one of the good guys... to the good guys, the bad guys are eventually going to be grease spots. So probably a nice shade of gray. It is one of my favorite colors.)**_

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**And so, we begin again...**

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Chapter 1: A Sorting to Remember

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**Being the Events in Parallel of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Book I**

* * *

Harry Potter was sitting in the last compartment in the last car of the Hogwarts Express still trying to piece together just how in the bloody hell his life had gotten so turned on its head. From the very large, but extremely nice, man telling him he was a wizard on his birthday in a shack on rock during a storm at sea, before which his walrus of an uncle had led the family on a frantic run from a horde of letters, to where he was now sitting a month and a day later, he had to admit that maybe his life was finally turning around.

He had been in the care of the Dursleys for just under a decade and had been subject to just about every form of abuse one could commit against a child, save sexual. And at that thought he shivered and felt more than a little nauseous, though he only had a few vague ideas of what it entailed.

As he was trying to shake that thought from his head by thinking of other things, the youngest male redhead from the family that had helped him get onto the platform came into the compartment, sparking just the distraction he needed. As Harry herded a few stray thoughts toward each other and laced them together with a few strands of paranoia, and as the redhead muttered something about everywhere else being filled up, Harry came to the conclusion that it was a little too convenient for a woman with three sons already in Hogwarts to forget the platform number, so threaded the possibility that the ginger was lying (it was kind of hard to believe that every other compartment was packed when a glance out the window showed other students still milling in the hall) into his stream of thought, and he then added in the fact that the woman wasn't surprised when he used his timid orphan mask to ask her how to get onto Platform 9¾.

If this kept up he might well become distrustful of redheads in general. But Harry was never one to turn away company due to his fat slob of a cousin's bullying, and so kept his gob shut about how transparent Ron was being, when the twins came back in, and quickly left again, only stopping long enough to check in on their youngest brother ("Hey, Ron" were the first words out of their mouths) and they then introduced themselves as Fred and George, but with no way to tell which was which.

Ron gains a glint in his eyes, and asked, "Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry resisted the urge to glare and simply lifted up his fringe. When he lowered his hand and remained quiet, the redheaded idiot opened his mouth. Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache he knew was coming he cut Ron off.

* * *

Having finally diverted the ginger git from his obsession with the night that seemed to mark when Harry's life decided to go down the loo, Harry pointedly ignored the woman with the cart when she came past. He'd gone days without food, and if it kept the redhead from impinging on his thoughts with anything more than chattering about chess, food, and whatever the hell Quidditch was, all the better. Though there was also a general bias against Slytherins and anything that could even be possibly "Dark". So he was possibly both a bigot and an idiot.

As he idly leafed though what he remembered of his books, Harry thought back to how he may never have gotten very good marks at school, but he remembered doing so for a very good reason. If he did anything other than cooking, cleaning, and gardening (of which Dudley did none) better than his hog of a cousin he would be beaten and then locked in his cupboard. He found that it took more intelligence to barely pass with deliberately bad marks than it did with perfect ones. Who would've thought?

So, Harry had always read ahead, his school stuff more often than not accompanying him into his cupboard, and he also spent as much possible time in libraries, which actually served a very good secondary purpose, given the fact that Duddykins avoided them like the plague. So when he had gotten his school books for Hogwarts, and now having a room with lights rather than on with whatever light filtered in through the cracks, he had read them all, multiple times.

So when a round-faced boy came in asking if either of them had seen a toad, Harry knew of something that might help, even if neither he nor the boy could actually use it.

In a flat tone, Harry asked, "You might want to ask one of the upper years if they could just use a summoning spell on your toad, you know?"

The boy stood there gobsmacked for a moment, before hitting bringing the palm of his hand to forcefully meet his forehead, and he then stalked off muttering to himself, "So that's how Gran is always finding Trevor..."

Harry then tuned Ron out as he started whinging about his own pet rat. He also resisted the urge to ask the redheaded one whether or not he wanted to spend most of his time in the company of spiders.

Though a few moments thereafter, Harry was jarred out of his thoughts as the compartment door opened, and a rather bushy haired girl entered. Given that his musings had long since stopped being interrupted by the Ron's incessant prattling about his three favorite topics, but now Ron seemed like he was about to cast some sort of spell on his rat, Harry idly wondered when he had gotten his wand out because now he need to start paying attention, if only to know when to duck for cover, so Harry silently gave his thanks for the interruption.

She asked, "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

Harry sighed and then deadpanned, "Toad? Belongs to a boy with a round face, possibly goes by the name of Trevor?"

She nodded.

"Sent him off to look for someone in a higher year to beg a summoning spell."

She stood there with her mouth open for a minute as if it wasn't the most obvious solution in the world, and then got side tracked by the fact that Ron appeared about to do some magic, which she apparently absolutely had to see.

And the redheaded possible moron opened his mouth and removed all doubt.

"_Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat, rat yellow."_

Harry stared and tried not to gape at the idiot. And then he started silently praying to whatever being would listen that he would not end up in the same classes as Ron. He may not be too partial to his life given how bad things had gone in the past ten years, but he still didn't want to die in an explosion caused by an idiot.

That would just be an ignominious end. So all ties to the git would have to be severed and all bridges burned at Harry's earliest convenience. The gormless buffoon was now classified as a danger to himself and, more importantly, others. Harry shuddered at the thought of having potions, a class which all the course books recommended caution for, with Ron.

Harry was just winding up his thoughts as the girl finished some sort of spiel he had only half listed too as she practically gushed about the books and she finished with introducing herself as Hermione Granger, with which he could do nothing else but introduce himself, and she then started citing books and chattering on about the texts she had read about him in, he entire bearing being in such a way as to lead Harry to a couple of conclusions about her.

Firstly, she absolutely adored books. Adored them in a way in which it seemed she believed they could do no wrong. Adored them more than could really be healthy for her. Truth be told he wanted friends, and she seemed nice enough, and definitely met his brand new minimum intelligence standards, but if her company was ever going to be tolerable to him, she would have to be introduced to a series of concepts that he had found very useful.

Secondly, and as a possible correlation to her obsession with books and general manner of beating a person over the head with facts, it would probably run a high end probability that she had few, if any, friends. Thirdly, and as an extension of both of the aforementioned, she would probably hold any and all authority figures as being paragons of some sort. The first and last of this could be fixed by introducing the concept of bias into her life, which would help curb her over reliance on books and topple authority figures form their high pedestal.

If one listened to Harry's thoughts, one might wonder why an eleven year would think things out in such away. To which Harry would point out that shite he had been put through would most likely make anyone grow up far faster than they should have to.

After the girl left, Harry went back to his random musings, until they were again derailed... But this time it was not a welcome event because the rather insufferable (and very pale) boy that he had met at the Madam Malkin's entered the compartment. Harry made the note to find some charms to seal his compartment for the next trip, because this was starting to get annoying.

And the little bigot apparently could not be sent to school without protection, because he had brought some sizable muscle with him, in the form of a pair of rather large boys that he offhandedly introduced as Crabbe and Goyle. Ron rather poorly covered a cough when the pale boy, who had a face not all that dissimilar from a ferret, introduced himself as Draco Malfoy.

Harry ignored Bigot White as he sniped back at Bigot Red and racked his brain for a means to get rid of Ferret Face. He only vaguely listened as Malfoy went on a bit about the right sort and the wrong sort in the wizarding world. Harry, though he had no bloody clue what the little ponce was going on about, came to the conclusion that not only was Draco arrogant, but he was also a bully, and sadly for Draco's hope of whatever ends he was trying to achieve, Dudley and Vernon had engendered a passionate, unholy hated bullies.

Harry ended up deciding that he would delay this rather ferret-y character for as long as possible. He would then avoid him, and if the ponce could not take a hint, he would then have to be destroyed, with extreme prejudice. He kept his face even as he tried not to laugh at that rather horrid, if entirely unintended, joke.

So, in the interest of buying as much time as possible, Harry carefully said, "I really will have to think about this Malfoy. This is all so new to me. I think I'll need a couple of days to settle into Hogwarts, maybe a fortnight at most, before I can get back to you..."

With a rather smug look on his ferret-y face, Draco replied, "Good thinking, Potter. I hope you make the right decision." And with that he turned and left.

This of course sent Ron off the deep end, who on the thought about representative animals, made Harry think of a weasel, though when he started to think on it, was a really strange thing, as Ron was the only was the only member of six members of the Weasley family that he had seen that made him think of that particular rodent. This train of thought helped Harry block out the ginger's ranting about dark wizards, purebloods, and how Harry would turn evil if he associated with wrong sort faster than you could say pumpkin juice.

Harry sighed and wondered when the damn ride would be over.

* * *

In the crush of bodies as the students piled off the train, Harry put as much distance as he could between Ron and himself. Git should probably be thankful Harry was not a violent person, because he was just plain aggravating. But then again, if he had been a violent person, the Dursleys would have died in their sleep years ago in a house fire. He had eventually come to the conclusion that Ron and Draco were two sides of the same, bigoted coin. And he would only communicate that to them by proxy, when he was sure they would hear it together, and he could get a good seat for the resulting fight.

And Harry would do his damnedest to stay the hell away from bad pence that they were.

Seeing Hagrid, who was calling out for all the first years, Harry greeted the gentle giant and though of how bias seemed to permeate the Wizarding World. Hagrid was a gentle person, but he had some rather clear cut opinions, and he was quite forthcoming with them. Ron seemed to share more than a few of them, and Harry filed those little facts together.

The few people who he had met and talked to from the Wizarding World seemed to see things in such a clear black and white manner that he was starting to wonder if magic somehow managed to polarize the way people seemed to think. His thoughts thus distracted Harry barely noticed that he had followed Hagrid and the other first years down a path to a bunch of boats. Blinking a few times, he climbed into a boat with Granger and the toad-boy, who if Harry recalled correctly was Neville something or other, but Harry was only really paying half of his attention to the sights as he strung various thoughts together as the boats took off.

After they had landed and gotten off the boats, Hagrid knocked on a huge oak door, and handed the lot of them over to a rather stern looking woman, who Hagrid called Professor McGonagall who then led them into the castle, with all but one of the first years being in awe of their surroundings, with Harry being far to distracted by this own thoughts.

Professor McGonagall then led them into a small chamber off the Great Hall, and Harry listened with only one ear as she explained what was going to happen soon. Before the start-of-term feast, they would be sorted into one of the four houses, and that their house would be like their family for the next seven years. Harry rather fervently prayed that it wouldn't be like **his** surviving family.

As the students started debating (and panicking) about just how they would be sorted, a group of what could only be described as ghosts floated though one of the walls of the room. Harry paid them little attention as the whole thing seemed rather scripted.

When McGonagall returned and finally led them into the Great Hall for the Sorting, with the room bring awe to all of the first years (a ceiling perfectly reflecting the sky outside is quite attention grabbing), McGonagall brought out a stool and placed a battered looking hat on it. And everyone of the returning students were starting at it. A sodding hat. These people were crazy... of course just when he though sanity had been taken to it's limits, the piece of headwear just _had_ to start singing. He resisted the urge to go up to a wall and start banging his head against it.

_(Canon has not diverged enough_

_For this song to have changed_

_So if you must know the words_

_That the hat puts forth_

_Just go read the song from the book..._

_or Google it!)_

Harry just stood there, looking rather gobsmacked at the hat, up until McGonagall called the name of the first new student, one Abbot, Hannah. He watched wondering just how the hell someone or a group of someones managed to make a rather ratty looking hat (though given that they were in a castle the hat probably looked like it did because it was just old) intelligent enough to do something like this, and he was only barely paying attention as the people whose names he recognized, like Hermione Granger and the now fully known Neville Longbottom who both were sorted into Gryffindor and Malfoy who was sent into Slytherin.

As his own name was called, he sat down on the stool, and the hat came down over his eyes, he heard a voice saying, _'Ah, hello Mr. Potter... Let's just take a quick peek into your thoughts and memories, so we can get you sorted.'_

He felt a slight rustling on his head, and quite disturbingly in it as well, and then silence for a rather long, a silence that gained a great deal of fury that seemed to stem from the hat.

The voice then said, in a manner that brooked no misunderstand as to how truly upset it was, _'What in the bloody hell happened to your childhood!'_

Rather confused as to why the voice, probably belonging to the piece of rather worn headwear gracing his noggin, would be upset about his "childhood", Harry was at a loss for words when he said/thought, _'Huh?'_

With a rather bizarre combination of a sigh and a chuckle, the hat said, _'One of my duties as the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts is to ensure that incoming students are safe from their families. So do you understand why I am more than a little upset about what your so-called relatives have done to you?'_

_'Yes... but what can you do about it?'_

_'More than you think, I just need to dig around a lot more to see the full extent to just how horrible they were... However to handle this part of what I need to do, we are going to have to go deeper into your head.'_

_'Why?'_

_'Because, how we are talking now, takes place at the speed of a normal conversation,but by going deeper, whatever will happen, will happen at the speed of thought, and you and I will be able to get more accomplished before we need to get the relevant authorities involved.'_

_'By the way you say authorities, my Aunt and Uncle are not going to like what will come to pass.'_ A rather feral grin split Harry's face at this. _'Sure.'_

* * *

The entire Hall watched with bated breath as Harry Potter, **the** Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, had the longest sorting so far this Opening Feast.

The castle's Potions Master, Severus Snape, sneered at a Potter once more having to make a scene. While the majority of the faculty were around, in one way or another, when the boy's parents were students could not help but wonder how much like either of his parents he would be. The majority of the students, spread about all four houses, were hoping that their house would be the one to get him.

The Headmaster kept his perfectly calm, grandfatherly face, however he was giving a small mental frown. There was a fact tickling the back of his head. There was something about the Hat he was forgetting. Something important. Something that would interrupt one of his carefully laid plans... But he had so many plans that were so interwoven that he couldn't tell what it was.

* * *

The world felt like it was being shifted an inch or so to the left. And then Harry was sitting on a bench, in a vast colorless field, with gray mists rolling around. Across from him, sitting on a stool at what about eye level, was the hat.

Eyes sweeping back and forth, Harry rather blandly stated, "So this is the inside of my head... It's rather boring."

A dry chuckle came from the hat, and it replied, "Well it is to be expected. This is not a part of your mind that is supposed to be populated by anything until you fill it. As opposed to your subconscious, where, in the majority of humanity, dwell rampant bunnies."

"Bunnies?"

"Yes... you look into the number of heads I have, and you start to build strange opinions like that. Trust me. But I digress, what we are here to do is go over all the memories of your abusive relatives. While we are doing that, I am going to give you grounding in a field of magic called Occlumency, which deals with the ordering of thoughts, and the protection of the mind from outside influences. The first step to learn it requires a witch or wizard to sort through their memories. The founders did not wish any student who had to go though the steps required to give evidence against those who abused them to have to go through their memories an additional time in order to learn this particular discipline."

"Well that is a rather delightful combination of thoughtfulness and foresight."

"It is also good planning. Now here is how it is going to go..."

"Wait... if we're going to be working here for a while, I need to be able to call you something... I mean, calling you hat..." A grimace twisted Harry's face.

The hat gave a hearty chuckle, and said, "Of course, call me Alistair. Now, before I was interrupted..."

"Now starting at the beginning, you need to construct somewhere to store your memories after we have gone through them. You should start off just arranging them chronologically for now, and get into fancier things if you decide to proceed with Occlumency.

"Now for the first dozen or so times, I will be helping you with the meditation to reach into this place, and so when you finally get to the point of clearing your thoughts on your own it should be easier than any other way of having it taught, save by being taught Occlumency by some who is both a master of it and Legilimency, which is the art of going into another person's mind."

As the Alistair lectured Harry settled on making this place into a combination library/study with an assortment of shelves, cabinets, and chests to store the memories in. Though it was likely for this first run though, only the shelves would be used.

When that was finished, they started working their way through Harry's life, starting with this red letter day, strange as it was, backwards. And so the final memory they dealt with, the first of Harry's recollections, was the memory of Halloween 1981.

As they finished reviewing that memory, Harry gave it a shape, which was a rather stark looking black book. Harry shuddered as he felt a strange echo that seemed to led somewhere that was not... him.

"Alistair this book seems to lead somewhere out of me," Harry spoke in a rather small voice.

"Well, that is new and different, and probably not at all good. Never even heard of anything like it. Make someplace secure to store it in."

So Harry built a separate room, with thick walls, plated on the inside walls, ceiling, and floor with steel, and placed an chest inside with four inch thick walls comprised mostly of iron. The door more closely resembled one from a bank vault than anything else. And even then, they decided to drop a pair of bars in front of it.

Harry collapsed into a chair, stared rather pointedly at Alistair, and asked, "Are we done yet?"

Alistair sighed, and said, "Yes, Harry, we are done. When we go back out, just stay quiet, and follow my lead."

* * *

At the twenty-five minute point, people started to worry. None of the staff could remember a sorting lasting this long. Dumbledore was still trying to figure out just what the hell he couldn't remember. McGonagall was starting to get worried about the child of some of her favorite students. The student body were getting hungry. Snape was starting to get angry. Flitwick had just remembered a piece of lore about the hat, and had turned as white as a ghost.

Just then the Hat opened its mouth and yelled, "Headmaster, Conference, Meeting Room 7!"

Dumbledore, showing an unwavering calm while his eyes twinkled, got out of his seat and walked over to Harry and the Hat, and unrufflingly stated, "Now, Dobbin, none of this. We have to continue the sorting."

Harry felt a spike of anger from the Hat and asked, _'He has never talked to you, has he?'_

Alistair just seethed in silence for a minute before replying, loud enough for the entire hall, "The Sorting is hereby delayed until later tonight."

The twinkle disappeared from Dumbledore's eyes, and he started, "Dobbin..."

But he was interrupted by a very loud, extremely irate, and most definitely female voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, **"ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE! CONFERENCE! MEETING. ROOM. SEVEN!"**

All of staff, headmaster included, paled at the thought of the Dumbledore being yelled at by what seemed to be the castle herself in the middle of the Great Hall. The two left house tables shifted towards the left wall, the right moved toward the other, and a fifth table with enough settings for the rest of the unsorted first years appeared in the middle. Dumbledore just stared, trying to think of what was happening. Too bad for him that he was not about to be given a chance to weasel out of this.

_**"NOW!"**_

As the entire hall just sat there with their collective mouths hanging open, Harry asked Alistair, _'So who was it that yelled at Dumbles?'_

Chortling at Harry's particular truncating of the Headmaster's name, the Hat responded, _'That Harry was Hogwarts herself.'_

_'The castle is...'_ He ran a dozen or so words through his mind trying to figure out the best way to phrase what he wanted to say, and finally settled on, _'Aware?'_

_'That is a good term, though anyone save the bigots of the magical world, **ALIVE**, would be much better, no matter that she is not flesh and blood.'_

_'Hrm. So how often does... the Lady Hogwarts speak?'_

The hat sat silently on his head for a few seconds.

_'What'd I say?'_

_'I'll tell you later, let's get to the meeting room. Now here's how to get there...'_

As Harry stood up and started walking out of the Hall, food began appearing at all of the tables, and as he reached the doors to the entrance hall, Alistair yelled one more time, "Deputy Headmistress, your presence will be required also."

* * *

Silence ruled the great hall as The-Boy-Who-Lived and The Sorting Hat left. Some stared at the doors, others at the new table, still more fixed their gazes upon the Headmaster, who was standing near the stool, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water. This scene held for a full two minutes before quiet conversation broke out in a sea of whispers.

Albus firmly decided that he was no longer having a good night. Dobbin, as he liked to call the hat, had not only ignored his promptings of a swift and immediate sorting of Harry into either Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, he had called for a conference of all things. And finally bits of facts and segments lore, reports ignored for the Greater Good, and horrific suspicions quashed, started joining together. And if it was what he thought it was, things were going to start going wrong for his plan to finally end the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Albus spoke, loud enough to only carry to the head table, "Severus, come with me. Minerva, I know the hat said your presence would be required but..."

McGonagall interrupted him, "Albus, you've already received a public dressing-down from the castle once tonight, which need I mention has not spoken in living memory, do you wish to go through another?"

He just shook his head at this, and left hall with Snape and McGonagall in his wake. His thoughts churned on how to wrench events back into his control, and how to keep Harry under his thumb. If one boy's happiness, life, and, yes, even soul had to be sacrificed for the Greater Good of the Wizarding World, it would be done. And no one would stop Albus Dumbledore from seeing it through.

* * *

As Harry and Alistair stepped into the conference room, the adolescent took stock of what was in it. Unadorned stone walls, a lit fireplace with a flowerpot on the mantle, and a longish table that had seating for fourteen, with some sort of stone basin sitting in the middle.

Alistair twitched on Harry's head and spoke out loud, "Harry would you please place me on top of the bowl on the table."

A little confused at this request, he did as Alistair asked, but curiously asked, "Why though, Al?"

Alistair chuckled at the abbreviation of his name and said, "Because Harry, this bowl is a Pensieve, a magical device that allows others to view and experience the memories of another person without requiring the use of Mind Arts. Though for memory clarity and fidelity, it really helps for the memory to come from an Occlumens."

As the two spoke, the chair at the head of the table shifted and reformed into a plinth, high enough that anything set on it would be at eye level to most adults sitting at the table.

Alistair, now finished putting a collection of Harry's memories of his time in the Dursley household in the pensieve, had Harry move him to the plinth, and take the seat next to him. A few minutes later they were joined by the three staff members.

Dumbledore, eyes twinkling once more, and his voice set in his most grandfatherly tone, began, "Dobbin, I must say..."

But that was as far as he got, before Harry interrupted, "The Hat's name is Alistair, which you would know if you ever thought to ask him, Headmaster."

And that set off the pale and furious Snape, who snidely spit out, "Now you listen here, you insolent whelp..."

But, now it was Alistair's turn to interrupt, "I don't know why you are here Snape, you were not asked to this conference. Leave. Now."

Snape whirled on the Headmaster, furiously spoke in a dangerous whisper that carried though the otherwise silent room, "Are you going to let a tattered relic and a child get away..."

For the second time that night, Lady Hogwarts herself spoke, and Snape was again prevented from finishing his rant. She was not as loud, nor as angry this time, but her voice still came from everywhere at once and was very stern sounding. **"Remove thyself Severus, before I must do it for you. And if I must remove thee, it will be a lot further than this room, and you will not return."**

And that particular threat sent the Potions Master scampering with his tail between his legs.

McGonagall watched all this impassively, wondering what in the blazes was going on.

Alistair muttered something vaguely sounding like 'finally', began the conference, "Before we move on, I'd like you to bring in the head from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and have him or her bring along a Healer specializing in adolescents from St. Mungo's."

Albus's left eye twitched ever so slightly, "I'm sure we don't have to bother Madam Bones with this, I know a few Aurors who could deal with this, and I am sure whatever we need a healer for Madam Pomfrey can handle it..."

"No, Albus. We are starting this at the top, and we are going to use an Healer, not a Mediwitch. Deputy Headmistress, if you would be so kind, the fireplace is connected to the Floo Network, and there is already Powder." Harry looked questioningly at Alistair, who continued, "Well Harry, Wizards have a way of communicating and traveling via fireplaces called the Floo Network," Harry wordlessly grumbled at the name, "Well no one has ever accused us at giving things brilliant names, but continuing, the Floo Network is activated and used at fireplaces by something called Floo Powder, and yes, but there is no need to comment about the extremely simple yet descriptive name."

They lapsed into silence until rejoined a few minutes later by Professor McGonagall, a witch with gray streaked red hair and a monocle, and a black haired witch who had a red cross in a white circle on the arm of her green robes.

Alistair cleared his non-existent throat, "First, I would like to thank you, Madam Bones, and you Healer..."

The woman spoke up, "Andromeda Tonks."

"For coming so quickly. Now, to begin with I would like everyone, save Harry and myself, to view the memories I placed into the pensieve on the table. There are only half a dozen relatively short ones in it, and it shouldn't take too long."

As the four adults seemed to stare off into space after having placed a finger in the bowl, Harry asked, "Why did you seem so surprised that I called the castle 'Lady Hogwarts'?"

But it was not Alistair who answered, **"Because, dear Harry, I have not been referred to as such by any save Alistair, since the last of the founders passed from this world."**

"I somehow get the feeling that you are not normally this talkative m'lady."

**"No, but you shall find out why eventually, Harry."**

With that, Harry settled down into silence, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the four stumbled back, horror painted across all their faces, Healer Tonks appearing as white as a bed sheet, McGonagall and Madam Bones shaking with barely suppressed rage, and a note of confusion in the Headmaster's eyes, stemming from one thought, _'How could anyone treat their own blood like that?'_

Alistair brought everyone's attention back to the meeting, "Horrible, I know. And that is why we are all here. Those memories are the worst of the worst, but there are still a great many I can bring to light. Before this meeting adjourns, I am going to _fill_ that pensieve with memories so that you, Madam Bones, can begin to prosecute Mr. Potter's so-called relatives."

Both Madam Bones and Healer Tonks managed to splutter out some that vaguely sounded like 'Harry Potter'. Neither had known who the child they were watching be abused was, since the only times he was referred to he was called either boy or freak. Both looked at the hero of the Wizarding World, and wondered anew how anyone could do that to a child.

Director Amelia Bones had always been curious as to what had happened to Harry. She had often worked together with his father, James. She had been a Senior Auror while he had been a Hit Wizard during the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She had been fond of both James and Lily, never mind the fact that three of them had survived multiple encounters with the Dark Lord.

Andromeda Tonks was wondering what **moron** had placed Lily's son with Petunia Dursley. She did not know Lily as well as her traitor of a cousin or psycho of a sister had, but she did know that Petunia absolutely despised her sister, and that placing her son with that 'family' could only lead to pain.

Minerva McGonagall had spun on the Headmaster and started tearing him a new arsehole, slipping from her usual refined accent to a Scottish brogue interspersed heavily with Gaelic curses. From what those listening could barely piece together, **he** had been responsible for Harry's placement with those three.

Finally Alistair needed to move things along and somehow whistled shrilly before saying, "If I could have everyone's attention please..." Minerva continued casting aspersions on Dumbledore's ancestry, wondering whether or not one his great grandfathers had mated with a concussed troll. "Deputy Headmistress, you will have plenty of time later to make your displeasure known to the Headmaster." She finally quieted, though a wicked gleam came to her eyes and a rather evil smirk crossed her face before she schooled herself back to her usual, neutral, sternness.

"Thank you. As much as I would like to see Albus included in whatever criminal proceedings are going to follow, all of us present, save Harry, know that the chances of anything actually sticking to the slimy old bastard fare the same chances as a snowball surviving a fortnight in Hades. The Castle and I shall handle Albus's abuse of power, and we assure you it will NOT be a slap on the wrist. And I will dole out those punishments before the end of this meeting. However I would like to discuss with Madam Bones how things should proceed from here concerning the custody of Mr. Potter, while Healer Tonks gives him a cursory examination."

Madam Bones picked up Alistair and retreated to one corner of the room, McGonagall reached out quickly and grabbed Dumbledore by the ear, twisted it, and dragged him to the other corner on same side of the room, and Healer Tonks lead Harry to the other side of the room and started casting diagnostic charms. After about fifteen minutes she was muttering to herself in a rather confused tone of voice. As the three groups reconvened, Albus was looking chastised, McGonagall still looked angry, Madam Bones had a rather feral smile gracing her face, Healer Tonks looked confused, Harry hungry, and Alistair... well he was still a hat.

"So before we move on to what we will be doing about what has been shown," Alistair began, "Healer Tonks, would you please appraise us to how Harry is doing, physically?"

"Yes, apart from what appears to be a minor case of malnutrition..."

"Wait... _**minor**_? They practically starved Mr. Potter."

"The only way I can explain it is that his magic possibly compensated for the fact, which in itself is only more confusing. I can say he has a number of bruises and contusions, two hairline fractures, and a few other maladies, including a few slight misalignments in set bones. All of which can be fixed quite easily, I caught a few things that I would like to get some more in depth diagnostics, but what I am really worried about is his mind..."

"Yes I know. As near as I can put it... those... people," no one in the room could mistake the scorn in the Hat's voice in reference to the Dursleys, "beat the childhood out of Harry. In my own opinion, and with the consultation of Hogwarts, we agree that mentally Harry is somewhere in the range of a decade older than he is physically. The other times I have had to take action like this, I usually had to make liberal use of calming charms that were built into my magic for just such occasions. In fact I usually spend the meeting from atop the abused's head. I can say that Lady Hogwarts and I shall be working with Harry to see that he at least gets some fun out of his education, but apart from that... I'd shrug if I could. But now, if that is everything..."

No one made any move to add anything, so the Hat continued.

"Very well.

**"I, ALISTAIR, THE SORTING HAT OF HOGWARTS, AND VOICE OF THE FOUNDERS FOUR, HEREBY DO DECLARE THE FOLLOWING:**

"Headmaster ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE shall hereby be subject to the following:

"Firstly, he shall swear an oath on his magic and his life to have as little interference in the life of Harry James Potter as is necessary and as is required by the stations that he holds, until Mr. Potter specifically asks otherwise, if ever;

"Secondly, that he shall be confined to his quarters and office for the first term of this school year, unless otherwise required by any office he holds;

"Thirdly, his guardianship of Mr. Potter, both Magical and Financial, are to be given up, and he shall never seek to regain either, nor shall he ever seek Legal or Physical guardianship, outside of what is required as Headmaster, and even then the bulk of in loco parentis rights shall instead fall to his head of house, whichever house that shall be;

"Fourthly, he is to unseal the wills of James and Lily Potter at the next session of the Wizengamot;

"In the event that any of these are not met, or in the case that he should break any of these restrictions, Headmaster ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE, shall be transported to the castle by the means that are available to her to recall the Head from anywhere upon this Earth. His magic is to be stripped in its entirety, he will then be removed with disgrace from his position as Headmaster, and he shall be banished from the Castle and Grounds of Hogwarts for all of time.

"In furtherance of the current Headmaster's inability to gain worthy teachers for a number of subjects taught at the school, the following will happen:

"Head of House Slytherin, Potions Master, Professor SEVERUS SNIDGET SNAPE, shall be stripped of his Head of House status, placed upon probation, and shall swear oaths to the following effects;

"He shall treat all students, regardless of any bias or bigotry, equally;

"He shall also actually **teach** in his class, not simply put directions, which are often _deliberately_ erroneous, on the board and direct the students to make the potion.

"Should he not accede to these guidelines, he shall be immediately **sacked**.

"If his teaching does not improve by the end of this school year, he is to be **sacked** forthwith.

"Professor CUTHBERT GALILEO BINNS, is hereby **sacked**.

"Professor SYBILL PATRICIA TRELAWNEY, is hereby **sacked**, and the subject of divination shall no longer be taught at Hogwarts, for the simple reason that one is either a seer or one is _not_. In the event that a student is capable of Seeing, the parents of the student will be provided with resources to seek tutition for their child.

"The following is hereby sealed into silence by the magic of Hogwarts until it can come to pass.

**"Professor QUIRINIUS QUIEVER QUIRRELL, is to be exorcised of the malignant spirit of TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE, who is otherwise known as the DARK LORD VOLDEMORT, and the aforementioned spirit shall be _ejected_ from the castle and grounds. It is unlikely QUIRINIUS QUIEVER QUIRRELL will survive the exorcism.**

"All new staffing is to be undertaken by the Deputy Headmistress for a period of one decade or until the Headmaster retires. All staffing changes must be approved by the portraits of the four founders, to which I will direct the Deputy and swear the Deputy to secrecy to the location of the portraits.

"As to the disposition of one Harry James Potter, all forms of guardianship shall pass to myself and the Castle of Hogwarts until such at time as suitable replacements can be found. In addition, he shall be made a Ward of Hogwarts, which I shall explain to him upon a later date.

**"SO I HAVE SPOKE. SO IT WILL BE WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OF HOGWARTS. SO MOTE IT BE!"**

As the Hat had been going on with its declarations, Dumbledore felt like he was being dealt hammerblow after hammerblow. He could almost see so many carefully and elegantly laid plans being turned to ash, and he could do _nothing_ about it. By the end of Dob... Alistair's decrees Albus was actually feeling quite ill. And when he spoke the words of ritual pronouncement, he could do nothing as what was left of the color in his face left, as so many carefully laid plans blew away into the wind.

After a few moments of silence, Madam Bones was the first to speak, "Well I may not agree with Albus not being prosecuted for his actions, I am aware of the difficulty in bringing any criminal charges against someone of his station, political power, and history. So I must be content with what Alistair has made the Headmaster subject to. Though goodness knows I want to see him in Azkaban. Well the least I can do is stuff Harry's relatives there." She got up and headed toward the fireplace.

Healer Tonks stood, and spoke next, "I will forward my recommendations to Madam Pomfrey in the morning. Mr. Potter should head to the Hospital Wing before breakfast tomorrow. He should also get a full physical as soon as possible, Alistair would you please convey that to whomever you turn custody of him over to?"

Alistair assented, and then she too left. The Hat then twitched at Harry to put him back on his head. Alistair then spoke up, "Let's finish up with the sorting."

Dumbledore then apparently made one last bid for control, "Of course, we need to finish up the..."

"Don't you remember that you are grounded, Albus? Just go to your room. Oh, and by the way, Nicolas and Perenelle have been informed that you are using their property as **bait**. I believe that they will be making their way to the castle in a day or two. Deputy Headmistress if you will lead the way please. Oh, and Albus, the door to the third floor corridor on the left side is sealed save for either Nicolas or Perenelle. Good night, Headmaster."

* * *

On the way back into the Great Hall, Harry and Alistair started talking about the original purpose that this entire thing started with.

_'So where are we going to put you Harry? You most definitely have the intelligence and some of the wisdom needed for Ravenclaw... however I believe if I were to stuff you in an ivory tower with a majority of know-it-all bookworms who trust print more than a wolf staring them in the eyes, either you or the rest of the house would be driven insane in under 72 hours...'_

_'Or less. I have the feeling that trying to explain bias to anyone in the Wizarding World could drive me to murder.'_

_'Yes, I gave up a few centuries ago on trying to do the same to anyone older than twenty. You have both the cunning and ambition for Sly...'_

_'There __**will**_ _be murder in the castle if I have to room with, or even close to, Malfoy. I think I would set him on fire in his sleep. __**Next**__.'_

_'Hufflepuff house is home to those who value loyalty and hard work. Though you have never met any to whom you would give your loyalty...'_

_'Save you, and you have it.'_

_'Yes... but something I can tell is that for those you are loyal to...'_

_'I'll storm the gates of Hell itself for them.'_

_'And of course given the torture those people put you through; you know the value of hard work.'_

_'It's a definite possibility, but what about the last house.'_

_'You most certainly have the courage to belong to the house of lions. You lived through what others would let destroy themselves. And I think that if you spend any time in the House of Gryffindor your own sense of honor will come to the surface.'_

_'So basically I have my pick... with my own preferences leaning toward either the badgers or lions...'_

At this point, they made their way back into hall and Harry sat down on the stool. Everyone had finished eating, and McGonagall stood at the front of the hall and spoke rather sternly, "Now that we have dealt with that, we will continue the Sorting."

_'I'll pick the house of the brave.'_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

_'We'll speak later, Harry, I still have some things I need to explain to you.'_

The Weasley Twins started yelling, "We got Potter!" And the rest of House broke into rather confused sounding applause. Going over to the table and grabbing a seat next one of the twins, he pulled some food to him and started eating knowing he only had until shortly after the end of the Sorting to do it, and so he barely payed attention to it..

He wasn't really interested in who went where up until the Weasel got put under the hat. After a two minute long sorting, the hat yelled out (as Harry silently chanted 'Not Gryffindor') "SLYTHERIN!" To which the Twins were absolutely speechless. The sorting ended after one or two more students, and McGonagall made a few short announcements before dismissing everyone to their respective houses, before moving over toward Harry, telling him a house-elf (whatever the hell that is) will bring Alistair to him in the morning so the Hat can talk to him.

Following the rest of his year and house mates, who were following Percy the Prefect, was possibly talking, but nobody was paying attention at this point, and they made their way to Gryffindor Tower. The entrance was a portrait of a rather large lady dressed in pink (whom Harry would later learn is rather rudely referred to as the Fat Lady) and the password was Caput Draconis. The group was then marched up into the Common Room, which was decorated in red and gold, and then Percy said, "Boys dorm is on the left. Girls is on the right."

As they made their way to their beds, the first year Gryffindor males introduced themselves. Obviously there was Neville. There was also Dean Thomas, and the very Irish (and proud of it) Seamus Finnigan.

Neville, the only one who had talked to Harry before the Sorting, stuttered out the question, "S-so wh-why'd the Hat stop the sorting?"

Harry, smiling sadly, said, "There's no need to be afraid to ask me a question Neville, but as to that... ask me in a couple months or so when I know you better. If there isn't anything else, sleep tight, Neville."

"Good night, Harry."

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters one through four of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 10 PM, June 24, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, though each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 1:**

**Word Count: 1,529 Character Count: 8,327 Hits: 233,621 Reviews: 67**

**Chapter 2:**

**Word Count: 1,194 Character Count: 6,637 Hits: 77,598 Reviews: 41**

**Chapter 3:**

**Word Count: 2,746 Character Count: 15,359 Hits: 74,439 Reviews: 71**

**Chapter 4:**

**Word Count: 888 Character Count: 4,924 Hits: 66,812 Reviews: 34**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 6,357 Character Count: 35,247 Hits: 452,470 Reviews: 213**

**New Total Word Count: 8,361 New Total Character Count: 49,628**


	2. The First Day of Classes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor.**

* * *

**A/N: As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review. **

**For those of you asking for more, tentative update schedule for the revision is every other or every third day**

**And apparently the challenge maker has found this! *Waves to DrgnMstr* Thanks for setting the bunny loose! Everyone give 'em a round of applause.**

* * *

Chapter 2: The First Day of Classes

Harry woke up when he normally did. Early. Far too early. So as normal, he went back to sleep for an hour or so. Hey, no one's perfect. And since this bed was far better than the crap one in Dudley's second bedroom, or heaven forbid, the crib mattress in what used to be his cupboard, it wasn't likely that Aunt Petunia would be around to roust him out from the covers to start his long chore list.

He finally hauled himself out of bed shortly after half past five. He pulled a uniform and clothes out of his trunk, and got ready to face the day. When he got back from his morning routine, Alistair was sitting on his trunk. Quietly gathering up the Hat, he made his way down to the Common Room... which was empty.

Setting Al on his head, and dropping himself onto a chair in front of the fireplace, Harry said, "Good morning Al, two questions. One, why'd you use my abuse as an excuse to sack two teachers and put a third on probation, and two, any particular reason you put Ron the Weasel in with the snakes?"

Al chuckled, replying, "Well to the first, Hogwarts has been looking for an excuse to get rid of those two, and to put Snape on warning. And using the concept of punishing them for Dumbledore's transgressions allowed me to do just that. Snape is a great Potions Master when it comes to brewing, especially when it comes to improving established potions, and the man actually tried and teach his students, and do so in a manner that is at least relatively unbiased, he probably could be an excellent teacher. Binns, well, Binns was a marvelous educator when he was alive, and still was for over a century and a half after his death. And his fall to where he is now was very gradual, and so nothing has needed to be done until about fifty years ago. And in the past couple of decades Binns has apparently forgotten that he gets paid for what he does, and so the Headmaster has been pocketing his wages. Trelawney is right fraud, even though Dumbles thinks of her as his pet seeress... even though she has only had one prophesy to her name and that one was only accepted on Dumbledore's word. Who knows whether or not she was faking to get a job she needed.

"Coming back to Snape, as I said, if it turns out in can actually teach rather than just inflict knowledge on his students by way of fear mongering, he could be an excellent teacher, but trust me, if I hadn't stepped in and made him treat all students equally, he would make every petty and vindictive attempt to make your life as miserable as possible. He and your father hated each other with a fiery passion when they went to school here, their 'rivalry' is the worst that I have seen in these walls in about two centuries, and that was when a group of five families broke out in a rather ugly net of blood feuds.

"All of the actions I took last night had to either aid you in some way or force a penance on Dumbledore, or I would not have been able to make sure that they happened. You gave Lady Hogwarts and I a vector to effect some much needed changes on the school, but it does help you. Any other questions on this little subject?"

"I do have one since I really don't want to be within a hundred miles of Voldemort in any way, shape, or form... What happened to him and Quirrell?"

"Since he let the Dark Tosser possess him willingly, the exorcism killed him quite painfully. Madam Bones came back a half an hour after she left and Quirrellmort was ambushed in a hallway away from students. As soon as he hit ground, Hogwarts started forcing the spirit from his body, it was not a pretty sight. Voldemort was then bounced quite firmly from the castle. I hope it landed in the channel.

"As to your second question, when that mental deficient put me on his head all he was thinking of was how he was going to become your 'best mate' the moment he was sorted into Gryffindor and how he could use that for his own benefit. All the ideas that boy had were half-baked and had little grounding in reality, showing a complete lack of the intelligence required for Ravenclaw. The use of someone he would call a friend shows a total absence of the loyalty indicative of Hufflepuff. And Gryffindor would be bad for his health, you would have been forced to hurt him to get some peace and quiet. Besides, I was quite curious as to what would happen when you make a Weasel and a Ferret share a dorm. So do you want to know the details involving being a Ward of Hogwarts now or later?"

"Now, but I've just got one more question. Why did it sound like when you were making your little pronouncement last night, that whenever you spoke someone's name except mine, it would read in a transcript as if it were all in capitals?"

"You noticed that? Strange, next to no one ever notices when a True Name is invoked. But then again, they are usually more focused on what the names are being used for. What I did last night was use each person's name and a bit of the massive power of Hogwarts to bind my pronouncements to them as a qualification of their continued employment here. For instance last night Snape **had** to make those two oaths in the spirit in which they were meant, not the letter, or else he would be forced to leave Hogwarts. And both Binns and Trelawney need to be out of the school by the end of term. That is when any sacking takes full effect. Though Trelawney will likely be out of the castle by the end of the day, McGonagall really doesn't like divination. Binns will probably still be around until she can get a replacement. She is a very ardent believer in the phrase 'Idle hands are the devil's plaything' so a class where students are put to sleep is better than a block of free time where they are causing trouble."

"… Interesting... So, Ward of Hogwarts? What is that?"

"Basically, it means that I get to be, hopefully temporary, guardian and counselor for you for the next seven years. I accompany you around the castle, and if you wish, I can go with you when you leave for the summer. One of the reasons I did this was to get myself into the castle proper. Dumbledore seems to be playing games, but I managed to diffuse whatever situation he was cooking up, before the dragon dung would have hit the fire. And most of it was accomplished in only one night. But I have the feeling you are going to be a trouble magnet, no offense intended, and I want to be nearby to try and defuse whatever comes up in the future."

"None offense taken, my luck is absolutely horrid. My second Halloween saw the death of my parents, and a very bad decade followed it, one which only people who have been through worse would wish to have. A man who you say hates me because of who my father was teaches here, and the monster that caused the events of Halloween 1981 was possessing another professor. So you want to be around me to defuse whatever emergency may come up next year?"

"That is just one of the reasons. And while keeping you from dying a messy death is also helping you, you also need some fun in your life. Just because your life has been hell, and you seem to attract trouble the way snow does the color white, doesn't mean you need to stop living your life. Though, it is probably closer to having not had a chance to live it yet. So, I am going to recommend a time-honored Hogwarts tradition. Pranking. And I would suggest getting to know the Weasley Twins as they have something that might interest you."

The evil grin that lit Harry's face would have sent even the most self-respecting members of the House of Lions scurrying to hide under their four-poster. "You know as well as I do that the chief reason my cousin continued to wet the bed well after his tenth birthday was that I kept sticking his meaty ham-hands into warm water while he slept. And also the fact that whenever Vernon did something to me that lasted more than a day, I got more than a little revenge with some _unique_ seasoning I used in a few recipes.

"And now for something completely different Alistair, because it is probably a good time to get moving into what needs to be done today, and you are more than a little conspicuous, but not to say that you don't look distinguished but..."

"It is still a few hours until breakfast! Hrumph, I have something that might keep you busy, though it is rather clear that you don't want to wear what is either an obviously ancient hat, or what is cleary The Sorting Hat. In fact I was just getting around to the fact that I can look like any piece of headwear I wish, and no matter the time of year, I will keep your head warm when it is cold, and cool when it is hot. Any preference?"

"Yeah, can you do a watch cap? Color doesn't matter... so long as you don't randomly change during the day."

"Yes, I can, but a watch cap is quite simple, and in fact amazingly _boring_. I hope you ask for a fedora at one point, and as for color how about we show some house pride for the first week." And with that Al to the shape of a simple woolen cap with alternating vertical stripes of red and gold. Harry pulled him off his head to have a look and then slipped the Hat back on.

_'So Al, if breakfast is not for a few hours when exactly does it start?'_

_'Seven. How about we work on your Occlumency, start building actual defenses, while we wait?'_

_'Sure, just how much Occlumency can you teach me?'_

_'As much as you are willing to learn, insomuch as it could either be classified as a White to Dark Gray Art. Though Occlumency is classified as a restricted school of magic by the current powers that be.'_

_'Huh?'_

_'Now, I'll help nudge you to your mindscape and I'll explain.'_

Harry shrugged, and closed his eyes, focusing and clearing his thoughts, before willing himself to appear in the middle of his mind. Alistair was already set on his stool, and Harry appeared sitting in the chair opposite the Hat.

"As you asked, more or less, the grayscale 'color' of the magical arts. This methodology of categorizing magic is no longer used, because those who have been in power, and those succeeding them for the past few centuries, have perpetuated a definitive classification of magic as either being totally Light or Dark. However almost all magic is subject to abuse. The older system that I am going to introduce you to, and teach you in its entirety if you wish, is based upon the intent required for the basic casting of the spell. Using this system, instead of a verity of Light and Dark spells, what you get is a vast majority of Gray. The spells that could be called either pure White or pure Black are actually rather rare. Light Gray are those spells whose intent is usually based in non-lethal combat or healing. Dark Gray tends to consist of lethal combat or attempts to just cause harm. Grey is where the magic has no intent, only how you use it."

"There doesn't seem to be any need to _teach_ this beyond that explanation."

"Well, most don't seem to understand it. I can tell you get most of it, and would probably learn the rest on your own. The Ministry of Magic also has quite a few restrictions on a number of schools of magic, the biggest four being Occlumency, Legilimency, Blood Magic, and Soul Magic. The last three are because they can be greatly abused, and the first because, if combined with the right potions, can render a person immune to most truth potions, and the potions to cut through it all are expensive, and extremely difficult, to brew.

"Now to building defenses. We'll start with those that could be considered the closest to White. That which is purely defensive: Walls. The composition, thickness, and any reinforcements would protect against blunt attacks. Your walls are already a foot thick, now there is a stone that exists in the magical world, it's extremely rare, but nigh unbreakable. It's called obdurite, an even unchanging gray in color, with the same reflectivity of concrete. Try fixing it in your mind and altering your walls..."

Alistair directed Harry in building some very rudimentary defenses, while lecturing Harry on a number of details about medieval fortification while making use of magic, so when the construction was mostly finished it more closely resembled a walled in medieval manor than anything else, though that was the entire purpose to Alistair having lectured on that particular subject while Harry worked.

As Harry opened his eyes, he saw that a number of the upper years had filtered into the Common Room while he had been busy. A few were stealing glances his way, but a number of them were working, some rather frantically, on what was probably summer homework assignments.

Checking his watch, Harry hauled himself off the couch, _'Hospital Wing before breakfast, right?'_

_'Yes, Harry, Healer Tonks has probably already gotten in contact with Poppy, and you do **not** want that woman angry at you.'_

_'Can you point the quickest way there?'_

_'Of course...'_

* * *

Harry came out of the hospital wing grumbling mentally to Alistair, _'So I have to drink half a dozen nasty tasting potions before breakfast, every day, for two months? I almost think I would prefer the malnutrition.'_

With a mental sigh, Alistair countered, _'Stop whining like a little girl. One, it is nowhere near as bad as it could have been. Two, after a quick check of her own Madam Pomfrey added a potion that would help deal with all those scars you have. Three, just deal with it. If you don't Poppy is going to hunt you down and force feed you those potions, and keep you n the Hospital Wing as often as possible for as along as possible to keep you under observation. So just suck it up.'_

As Al guided him down to the Great Hall, Harry couldn't help but wonder what classes would be like. Actually, he wondered what classes where he could do well and truly apply himself would be like. Even if last night's changes had not come to pass, he realized now that the Dursleys would not care what grades he got here, and would actually be quite angry with him no matter how well or poorly he did at this school. It would have been better just not telling them, and therefore he could as he wished. And he didn't even have to worry about them in the slightest now. If he had been any less self-contained, he would have been bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement to get to class.

_'Settle down, Harry. Maybe I **should** have put you in Ravenclaw. They are among the few in the castle that get so excited about classes on a regular basis.'_

_'Yes, but this isn't a regular basis. I'll be able to do the best I can with having to worry about Vernon having a go at me with his belt. And I'll also be learning __**magic**__.' _And as he thought that an evil grin lit his face up like a Christmas tree and resisted the urge to cackle.

_'And the universe is now quaking in its proverbial boots. Just make sure you don't do anything to break reality too badly, Harry.'_

Entering the Great Hall, Harry took a seat at the Gryffindor table and started eating. For some reason instead of putting him off of food, the potions seemed to have made him more hungry. He sent an inquiring thought toward Alistair.

_'Well, part of it is due to the fact that the potions are causing you to consume more energy than you normally would. The energy needed to restore your body can't come from the potions alone, most of it has to come from you. Therefore you do need to eat more than you normally would. In addition one of the potions was meant to specifically increase your appetite to where it would be for a young wizard your age. As a group, developing magic users need to eat significantly more than mundane adolescents and teens. By actually getting you to the point where you are eating as much as you really need to sustain your body, you will no longer be wasting a good portion of your magic doing it.'_

_'Wait. That is something I didn't understand and never asked last night. Healer Tonks mentioned something about my magic possibly... compensating... for my starvation...'_

_'I've been thinking about that too. It's a little known and little believed bit of information, but some circles of magical thought have put forth the idea that if a moderately powerful wizard or witch were in danger of starvation, a part of their magical power could devote itself to converting what food did make its way into the system into something more potent. Generally magic users that powerful would never be caught in a situation where they would starve, and even fewer, if any at all, would willingly subject themselves to it. As to why you are nowhere near as permanently physically damaged as your memories would indicate you should be, well if you take the fact that your magic was apparently seeing to it that what little food you got was feeding you as best it could, well why couldn't it heal you as well?'_

_'That doesn't seem to be too far-fetched ...'_

That started a conversation about the known physiological differences between magical and non-magical people around Harry's age (which mostly constituted that most magical humans were more resistant to harm and mundane disease, though that was balanced with curses that resisted even magical healing and some rather nasty magical diseases) and it lasted until shortly before McGonagall, as the Gryffindor head of house, started passing out schedules.

_'Okay Al, what **don't **you know...? You seem to be a master of what you call Mind Arts, what seems like fundamental magical theory, physiology, and medieval.'_

_'You have to remember, I normally spend most of my time sitting on a shelf in the Headmaster's office. Part of the magic that gives me an existence ties me into Hogwarts in a number of fun ways. One the more useful is that I can read any book that is cataloged as belonging to the school, which is quite frankly much, much more than is in the library itself. So at least on the theory side of the equation, I know more about magic than almost any other entity on the planet. However lacking the needed practical knowledge to safely use it, I only study theory as a means to kill time, though it does make me a useful sounding board for Headmasters who actually appreciate having an ancient, genius level intelligent relic around. As to the Mind Arts, it is partly due to my purpose of sorting students, partly because I am a relic that is **comprised** almost solely of Mind Magics.'_

Harry grunted at this, and accepted his schedule from McGonagall, thanking her. He looked to the side and saw that Neville had taken a seat to one side of him while he had been busy eating and having a conversation with Alistair. Taking full stock of the situation, it seemed the entirety of the House had made its way down to breakfast. Granger was sitting on his other side, and for some reason the Twins were sitting across from him.

"Morning Neville, Fred, George, Granger. Looks like us ickle firsties have Double Charms with the Ravenclaws first."

This set Granger off babbling about what the various books she had read said about the subject. It reinforced the basic conclusions he had come to about her on the train, and added the fact that she apparently did not understand that not everyone had the taste for raw textbook knowledge that she did.

_'Alistair, if I don't do something about these rather unsavory habits of hers, she is going to end up alienating the entire house, and from a few things I've seen, the vast majority of Gryffindors are... _

_'Godric always was a bit lazy himself, but yes, I think she will irritate a number of her fellow lions, and I couldn't really but her in Ravenclaw because part of how the Sorting works relies on choice, and she was dead set on being in Gryffindor. So what are you planning?'_

_'A little lecture on bias and how not all people find textbooks interesting reading.'_

And she was just taking a breath, so Harry decided to start in on her, "Okay, you and I need to go through an intellectual exercise." Her eyes lit up at this thought. "This isn't going to be as fun as you think it is going to be. In fact it is probably going to hurt when I drive the needed points home." She looked confused, like she couldn't understand how anything having to do with knowledge and intelligence could harm her. She probably didn't. "All I ask is that for the most part you answer my questions with, yes or no, true or false answers." She nodded, still looking confused. The Twins were watching with interest, and Neville looked like he was wondering what Harry was doing.

"Lesson the first: Books are written by people." She nodded. "Everyone is only human." She nodded again. "To err is human." Again, nodded. "Every person has their own viewpoint."

"Yes."

"And a person cannot help but put their own viewpoint in anything they create, making a work biased." "True." From the look on her face, you could tell that she was wondering when he was going to get to the point. "Therefore, all books, whether or not it is intentionally done, carry the bias of the author, and the written word of one person cannot be treated as gospel truth. Q.E.D."

A look of hurt entered her eyes as Harry brought a hammerblow down on one of the truths of her world, "Why... why..."

"Why did I have to do that? I have one more thing I'd like to explain to you, and I can guarantee that it will not hurt anywhere near as much as the first."

She looked a little wary at this statement, but she nodded her agreement. She had never really had anyone her age take an interest enough in her to try and teach her something.

"Okay, take a previous statement you agreed to. Every person has their own viewpoint. As a correlation, every person has their own tastes and preferences." She gave him a look that said that statement was obvious. "Everyone has varying levels of intelligence." She made a motion that said 'get on with it'. "Textbooks can be rather dry reading."

"Granted."

"All of that put together means that not everyone shares your propensity for the discussion of the raw information that comes from textbooks recited verbatim." She nodded glumly.

"Now, as to why I did it. If you continued acting the way you did, I noticed a few things about a few of the upperclassmen doing their summer homework this morning," Hermione took this moment to look rather scandalized, "and that shows a mindset that may cause how you act to start alienating you from the entire house. They would not have wanted to spend any time around you. You would have been shunned, and from what I can tell of your behavior, that probably would have resulted in you spending the next seven years alone, probably making an attempt to read the entirety of the Hogwarts Library, which though to you may seem like a decent pursuit, it is most definitely not healthy, mentally or emotionally."

She could not help but agree with him, also could not help but wonder two things, and the fact that she wanted to ask a question or two was plain on her face, so Harry prodded, "Ask. I may not answer if I deem it too personal, but I won't be mean about it."

"Why? Why take the time and effort to try and explain this to me?"

"I have a soft spot for outcasts, being one myself."

"Why is it you seem so... well for lack of a better word, mature?"

"Let's see if we become anything even remotely resembling friends, and then maybe I'll tell you."

"Okay... I... I'm gonna go see if I can find the charms classroom." She got up from the table, and headed off.

Neville took this chance to strike up a conversation of his own, "That must not have been easy to do, and you looked ready to be ill when you dropped the end of the first one on her..."

"I don't like hurting people. It's that simple, but it had to be done. It would have been worse for her in the long run, and that is too close to me hurting her by inaction."

"So you have some sort of hero complex?"

Harry stayed silent for a moment pondering that for a moment. "Possibly, I just don't like seeing people hurt."

"I'm gonna head off to the Tower get my books for Charms and Transfiguration. One outcast to another, you mind getting lost on the way to class with me, Harry?"

"Sure thing, Neville. I'll head on up to the tower in a few minutes, I just want to eat a little more."

Following Neville's exit from the table, Harry turned to the Twins, who were still watching in interest. He motioned for them to go on ahead with whatever they were going to do.

"So, Harry..."

"... Forge and I..."

"... Were wondering if you..."

"... As a person of obvious intelligence..."

"... Don't forget cunning, my dear twin..."

"... Yes, yes Gred..."

"... But we digress..."

"... We were wondering whether..."

"... Or not you would wish to join us..."

"... On a number of noble and exciting ventures..."

Harry held up a hand to stop them, but he was grinning evilly. He looked around and no one was watching them, so he asked Alistair if he would mind showing himself to the twins.

_'Why, Harry?'_

_'Because you obviously pointed me towards them with the intention of joining in the pranking sooner or later. So let's just have you in on it from the outset.'_

_' I can't use any of my access to the castle to cause mayhem.'_

_'But you and I both know you can still **plan** mayhem.'_

_'Caught me.'_

The twins' jaws dropped as the cap on Harry's head shifted to the Sorting Hat.

"Alistair here has already pointed me in your direction with the indication I should have some fun in the manner of your normal choosing."

The pair were speechless. Harry had a feeling that he was witnessing something that very rarely happened.

Alistair took this chance to add in his own two cents before turning back into the red and gold cap, "And I doubt you could find much better help than the Son of Prongs."

With the dropping of what was apparently was a rather large bombshell, the left twin fainted and fell backwards off the bench, and the right twin fell forwards into his food.

With a wicked grin plastered on his face he got up and bowed to each of the twins.

_'Al, you are absolutely diabolical. You **knew** they would react like that.'_

_'Yes. But you had already made them speechless, I wanted to cause some havoc to them.'_

Harry made his way back from the Great Hall to the Tower with only minimal prompting, and going up to his trunk to get the things for class, he saw he had at least beat Neville back to the dorm, so he decided to wait. About five minutes later Neville came in, and stared at Harry confusedly, and managed to sputter out a rather confused, "How?"

"As a side result of the whole situation last night, I have a very reliable source of directions."

Neville just stared blankly at Harry.

"I'll explain it sooner or later. Grab your stuff. Let's see if we can beat Hermione to Charms."

Neville just shook his head at that.

Chatting idly with Neville about the landmarks for the most reliable path from the Tower to the Charms classroom_,_ they quickly made their way to their first class.

The conversation between he and Neville subsided and they also entered the classroom. They were the first save a pair of the more rabid 'Claws. Neville looked at Harry, who shrugged, and was the motioned to pick a place, and they ended up just forward of the middle, pulling out what they would need. They spent some time talking, wondering what Flitwick would be like as a teacher.

Hermione came into the classroom about fifteen minutes before class started, and stood at the door staring at them for a minute with a blank look on her face, before she took a seat in front of the pair of Gryffindor boys with a huff, and she grumbled, "How do you two know your way around already? Get some help?"

Neville shook his head and pointed at Harry, "Hey, I did nothing. I just followed him."

Harry grinned wickedly, and replied, "And what I told him was that it was a trade secret. I might tell someone... eventually. But not now."

The three then fell into a discussion of what they might cover in class the first day, and Hermione seemed to be at least trying to avoid sounding like a know-it-all. Then class started, with Flitwick taking the roll from atop a perch of books so could see over his desk. When he got to 'Potter, Harry', he fell off in his excitement.

Following the class which started about very basic magical and charms theory and classroom safety, ending which teaching the class the simple illumination spell _lumos_, which all three enjoyed, Hermione asked if Harry knew where the library was. Neville shrugged, said they had about an hour to kill anyway, and so Harry led the way on the most direct route to the library. Both were looking at him askance after he had let them through a set of secret passages. But Hermione was soon distracted by the sheer amount of literature in the library.

Neville sighed, and then said, "Easy girl, **breathe**, Hermione."

Harry added, "Remember, we've probably only got forty or so minutes. I know the way to the Transfiguration classroom, but not how long it is going to take."

Hermione nodded distractedly, and went off toward the stacks.

"I think we should stay with her. If we let her go back there alone... Well, let's just say I don't want to have to explain it to our head of house about how we lost one of year mates to the library."

Neville paled at the thought of a hacked off McGonagall and the two made to catch up to Hermione. They eventually had to drag and/or threaten her with a teacher's displeasure to get her out of there. They made their way to Transfiguration, getting there ten minutes early.

McGonagall was to Harry's expectations. Stern and not to be crossed. She explained in no uncertain terms that there was to be no playing around in her classroom. She then changed her desk to a pig and then back again. What followed was then a great degree of complicated notes, and then they were told to change a matchstick into a needle.

Harry had started to notice that something was off with Neville's spellwork. He tried as hard as he could, both in this class and in Charms, but it seemed everything seemed to just splutter into failure. The only thing Harry noticed was that Neville's wand appeared significantly older than not only his own, but those of every other member of their class. After having been the first to change his match into a needle, Harry sat back and decided to have a quick chat with Alistair.

_'Al, what would happen if a witch or wizard was forced to use a wand that didn't pick him or her?'_

_'Simple. The spell results would simply be worse. The worse the match between wand and wizard the more likely the spell would simply fail.'_

_'So do you think Neville may have a badly matched wand?'_

_'It is most definitely possible if the wand is not new like you have noticed... Ask.'_

"Neville, I have to ask you, why does you wand seem so much older than everyone else's."

"Because it belonged to my Dad. My Gran says I should be honored to use it..."

"But did the wand choose you?"

"What?"

"One of the first things that Ollivander said when I stepped into his store was that the wand chooses the wizard, and if your Gran decided unilaterally that you would be better off using your father's wand than one that would be **yours**..."

Neville grimaced at this, and opened his mouth to say something before a voice behind them, McGonagall's voice behind them to be precise, set them both sitting straight up, "I think I am going to have to write a letter to your grandmother, the Dowager Longbottom. It is all well and good to hold one's father up as an example, but what your Grandmother is doing is going to do more harm than good in the long run. Keep trying Mr. Longbottom, but don't be discouraged."

Neville and Harry just stared at each other for a few moments, then Neville went back to trying to transfigure his matchstick, and Harry idly tried to return his needle to its prior form. Class ended with only Hermione and Harry having completed the task, though others had made their matches pointy or metallic. Seamus ignited three and blew another two up, which the Irish boy found quite fun. It was then that everyone went off to lunch.

* * *

Sitting down to lunch, Harry couldn't help but scarf down even more food than he did at breakfast. He was nowhere near as big a pig about it as his cousin was at meals, but he still managed to pack it way. After a good solid twenty-five minutes of eating, he was finally started to get full.

Alistair took this chance to get a word in edgewise, _'A pair of people just crossed into the wards, and if they are who I think they are, I am going to have to speak to them. Are you finished gorging yourself, or should I get a house-elf to take me to them?'_

Spearing one last piece of meat with his fork and popping it in his mouth, _'I think I'll survive until dinner. By the by, are you, at some point, going to tell me what in the blazes a 'house-elf' is?'_

_'Yeah, well just go out to the entrance hall and wait for them. Take me off on your way out, put me in a pocket for a minute, I'll change to my tattered state.'_

Harry looked around for a minute, rolled his eyes, and thought, _'Everyone is too busy eating, just change back now, I'll take you off and carry you out. Your plan is overly complicated.'_

Muttering something about missing a chance at playing at cloak and dagger, Al shifted back, Harry snatched him off his head and made his way out of the Great Hall, and he thought that he wasn't the only one who needed to have fun in life. He leaned against a wall, holding the Hat in his hands, waiting for whoever Alistair was waiting for.

Less than ten minutes later, a man and woman walked into the castle. They both appeared to be in their mid-forties, the man was of average height, wore his black robes open with dark gray slacks and a button down shirt of a lighter shade of gray, his dark hair peppered with silver. The woman was a head shorter, with a skirt and blouse in two slightly different shades of dark green showing under her gray robes, and her hair was fiery red with streaks of white.

"That them Al?"

"Yup."

Shrugging, Harry made his way over to them, the Hat held before him in both hands, and told them, "The Sorting Hat assumed you would wish to speak with... Hey Al, are you a he or an it?"

"Nobody likes a smart aleck, Harry."

The pair, whoever they were, just stared at Harry for a few moments. He hadn't quite gotten used to the attention yet, but he could ignore it. He could ignore a lot of things.

The man broke the silence first, while gently taking the Hat from Harry's hands, "Yes, yes, Alistair was just the entity I needed to speak to. Thank you for bringing him to us."

"Your welcome, sir. Alistair, I'll see you..." He airily waved a hand about, "whenever I see you."

The hat made a bobbing motion in the man's hands and said, "Yes, Harry, I'll have someone get me back to you when we're finished. You can find your way to and from the Tower from here I assume, and it is fairly difficult to miss the greenhouses, so I assume you can make your way to your next class?"

"Yup. Enjoy your little meeting." Harry then made his way off to the tower, maybe he would take a nap, let all that food settle...

When he was out of earshot, the woman sadly spoke, "He has Lily's eyes, Nic."

And the man nodded glumly, "But he gets most of his looks from James, Pen."

Alistair decided not to let the two stew, and interjected, "Yes, yes, anyone who knew his parents can say those things. Now as to why you're here..."

Nic, interrupted, "The reason we came here... but now we have something else to speak about. You made him a Ward of the Castle. What happened?"

"We can talk on the way to the third floor..."

* * *

Stepping through the portrait hole with a yawn, Harry, working through what he remembered of last night, assumed the pair were the Nicolas and Perenelle that Alistair mentioned, and that the Headmaster had used something of theirs to bait a trap for Voldemort. Apart from that, he was fairly clueless as to what was going on, not that he really cared much beyond understanding the basic facts. He stuffed what he assumed he would need for Herbology in his bag, and then dropped onto his bed to at least rest his eyes for a bit.

* * *

Stopping outside the place where the object had been hidden, Nic, Pen, and Al had been talking about Harry all the way up there, with Alistair painting the general picture of Harry's so-called life so far. The two had dark looks on their faces, and Alistair only made one comment, "Don't hurt Fluffy, that would make Hagrid cry for a week. At least."

Nicolas stuck the Hat on his head and stood to one side of the door, with Perenelle on the other, and they then used a spell to rip the door off its hinges, blowing out into the hallway and into the opposite wall. They then each sent a half a dozen quick stunners into the room and calmly walked in, to the snores of the first guardian, a Cerberus named Fluffy, one of Hagrid's many pets.

Levitating the animal off the trap door, the pair dropped down, Nicolas holding on to his passenger. Hitting the bottom they both immediately and viciously set fire to the Devil's Snare, penning it in a ring of flames that would burn for a couple of hours. Walking into the room of flying keys, they simply blasted the door into the next room. Not even breaking stride into the chess room they came and started blowing up the various chess pieces, who were sent fleeing in terror, out of the way of the duo with the hat.

"What the hell was Albus thinking with these quote, defenses, unquote, Alistair?" Nicolas asked.

Alistair grunted, "Probably the exact same thing he was thinking when he consigned Harry to a decade of hell."

Perenelle grimaced, "Was it really that bad? I know we were either first or second on their list of guardians following his godparents."

"We won't know for certain until Albus unseals their wills on the 23rd."

Having finished turning the chess set into fragments, they burst the door into the next room and started throwing overpowered cutting curses at the offending troll. It fell within fifteen seconds. Walking into the next room, they cast a simple flame freezing charm to get by the wall of flame on the far side of the room. And in the final chamber, sitting on a pedestal, was the Sorcerer's Stone.

Picking it up and dropping it into a pocket, Nicolas said, "We really do have more to talk about, Alistair."

* * *

Dusting off his robes, Harry walked away from the greenhouses, trailing shortly behind Neville and Hermione who were animatedly discussing this class. He could tell that they had both liked it, Hermione because it was a class and Neville seemed to genuinely enjoy the subject. It reminded him a bit too much of his Aunt's garden.

There was something bothering him at the back of his mind, something he just could not put words to. He stuffed it away so he could examine it later. As he was doing that, he walked into the Entrance Hall and a short... creature... with large floppy ears and over-sized eyes appeared out of nowhere. Harry couldn't help but think that maybe this was one house-elves Alistair kept mention, even while he jumped a foot away out of surprise.

It piped out in a squeaky voice, "Master Hatty says Harry Potter should come see him in Meeting Room 7."

He nodded and dropped a quiet 'Thank you' for the elf... who made a squeeing sound for some bizarre reason before disappearing, and headed off toward where he thought the room was, shaking his head.

* * *

"So you have given us the generalities of what happened to him, may Albus burn in hell, but how is he, Alistair?"

"Nicolas, I can only tell you if you two are serious about taking custody of him."

Nicolas and Perenelle looked at each other for a moment.

"James and Lily were some of my favorite people of the last two centuries, Pen, especially since Albus has apparently gone insane and or senile."

Perenelle sighed at this, "Quite frankly Nic, I never understood what you saw in that goat molester. But I agree, we should see what we can do for him, for James and Lily's sakes at the very least. They were good kids."

Alistair, once again clearing his non-existent throat, "So if you two are agreed?"

They both nodded, their faces a combination of anger and sadness at what happened to the child of their friends.

"So a quick rundown of how Harry is. Physically he is better than he should be, and a few months of various potions and a couple of visits to a Healer should fix what is either underdeveloped or what didn't heal properly, he should be a normal eleven year old wizard. Mentally, there is nothing we can do for him without massive use of memory charms, and quite frankly those could do more harm than good. So no matter what we do, it is doubtful that he is ever going go back to thinking like a normal child. Emotionally is where he is the worst off. I very carefully glossed over his emotional state at the meeting last night. No one there needed to know that though he will be fine in mind and body, he is almost dead emotionally. Anything larger than mild excitement is crushed with an instant ruthlessness that is actually quite frightening. In fact I didn't want _him_ to realize it either. I have no idea how he would react. Except maybe to force himself into complete non-reaction."

The look of sadness on their faces was heartbreaking. They remembered that both of his parents were extremely emotional people. Lily was kind with a temper that sent even the boldest running to hide under their beds, while James was a jokester who saw humor in everything. That their child could barely feel anything, they felt that was the greatest crime Dumbledore had committed thus far.

Pen pulled a handkerchief from a pocket, and dabbed at her eyes, "Is there anything else you think we should know?"

"I have a few suspicions. He's only about average magically but..."

Nicolas's face blanked with rage as he interrupted Alistair, "He was committing deliberate acts of magic before his parents' deaths. I remember a time when he summoned a cup of juice right out of Lily's hands. And neither of them were surprised at what he had done. He had done it **before**!"

"So it is now no long a suspicion. You should get him checked thoroughly for blocks and bindings on his magic, maybe more."

Perenelle made a noise that sounded suspiciously like an irate cat, "You think that... that..." She launched off into some very interesting use of vulgarities in at least half a dozen languages in an attempt to describe just what she thought of Dumbledore. "Explain to me just why we shouldn't go kill Dumbledore, right now?"

"Because Perenelle, Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort was in this castle just yesterday. If he hadn't been, if it was still only a possibility that he was still hanging around, we could possibly do without Dumbledore. All thing considered, Dumbles is the only one who has ever been able to stand up to Voldemort in a fight. Sorry, you two, but you may have more skill in your pinkies than Dumbledore has in his entire body, but it takes the two of you working together and taking every advantage you can to beat him. It just the fact that Albus is freakishly powerful."

They both grunted disconsolately at this.

* * *

Harry knocked on the door to the Meeting Room, figuring that if the Hat had wanted Harry to come to him in this room **some**thing had to be up. The door opened with no visible cause, so he entered to the complete silence of the hat and the pair from earlier, so he decided to take a seat.

Alistair broke the raging quiet, "Harry, meet Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel. Among other things, they were friends of your parents. They figured out, in short order, that you had been made a Ward of the school...

And Nicolas broke in, "And we wanted to know if you like us to become your guardians."

And for the first time while at the school, Harry's face showed something other than the evenness he normally kept, the minor annoyance he sometimes felt, or the mild excitement he showed. It went blank for all of ten seconds, before a look of hunger came across his face. He felt something flutter in his chest, just left of center.

He spoke in a small quiet, sounding for the first time like an eleven year old, "You knew my parents? I... I..."

He fought with himself, attempted to crush the feeling down, like he always did, and barely managed to, even though he no longer really understood why he did it. He brought his face back to evenness, but it took a minute to get his voice to work again.

"I... I think I'd like that."

Nicolas and Perenelle smiled, and she said, "We'll need to speak to your Head of House. There are probably a large number of things that Albus decided to skip when he had you brought back into our world, so I think we are going to need to take you out of the castle for a few days at the very least so we can get everything done."

Nicolas nodded, and picked up the thread of the conversation, "Probably, and more than we would like to think. Now there are number of things that we are going to have to speak with Alistair about, do you want to sit in on it?"

"No, I'm fine. I assume you are going to want me there when you speak to Professor McGonagall?"

All three voiced their assent.

"Then I'll take my leave."

Harry heaved his way out of the chair, and left the room.

After the door closed, Perenelle put forth, "So... his parents..."

Nicolas simply grunted and muttered a few nasty things about Dumbledore in French.

Alistair wished he was allowed to read more than Harry's uppermost thoughts. He had what he thought was a fairly good idea of how Harry's mind worked, but when he had watched the young man's history, he had to take the role of an outside observer, so he didn't know what was really going on in Harry's head apart from his glimpse for the purpose of sorting. Even when he was in Harry's mindscape, the magics that composed of his own existence did not allow him to go poking around anymore than was necessary to teach Harry.

* * *

Harry propped himself up against a wall a few corridors away and shook his head.

_'Nothing is wrong. Any... any person would want to know about their parents if they didn't know them. Nothing is wrong with me. I'm normal.'_

_'That sounds like some fairly thin justification.'_

_'**Shut up**!'_

_'Talking to yourself is a sure sign of madness.'_

_'Only when you don't have anyone to talk to.'_

_'Well, what about your new acquaintances... surely you can talk to them.'_

_'I barely even know them. I don't need anyone anyways. All I need is me.'_

_'And maybe if you repeat it often enough, it may even become true.'_

Harry screwed his eyes shut and shoved that particular voice down. It and the others had been his only company in the long dark of the cupboard. That particular voice had taken a long time to teach him the lesson he had taught Hermione in a few minutes. But sometimes it could just be too rational.

He opened his eyes and saw that he had sunk down to the floor. Picking himself off and dusting off his clothes, he made his way to the Tower.

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters five through seven of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 5 PM, June 27, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 5:**

**Word Count: 1,577 | Character Count: 8,411 | Hits: 69,381 | Reviews: 35**

**Chapter 6:**

**Word Count: 3,260 | Character Count: 17,715 | Hits: 62,057 | Reviews: 35**

**Chapter 7:**

**Word Count: 2,653 | Character Count: 14,278 | Hits: 57,214 | Reviews: 33**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 7,490 | Character Count: 40,404 | Hits: 188,652 | Reviews: 103**

**New Total Word Count: 8,570 | New Total Character Count: 47,016**


	3. Diagon, Gringotts, and Saint Mungo's

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling**

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**A/N: As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review.**

**Sorry for the delay, this new conglomerate chapter needed a lot of detail work. Detail work to the tune of nearly three thousand words. Had to make it fit right.**

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Chapter 3: Diagon, Gringotts, and Saint Mungo's

Alistair directed Harry and the Flamels into a small room near the meeting room that for this occasion served as a private dining room. As everyone's plates filled, Nicolas started off the conversation, "If my memory is right, I met your parents during their sixth year here at Hogwarts. Dumbledore absolutely could not find a person to take up the Defense posting, so I had agreed to teach it, but only for a year.

"Both of your parents were taking N.E.W.T.s level Defense, though given the situation at the time, everyone who managed an E on their O.W.L.s were taking the class. Though I didn't learn this until later, your parents had not gotten along all too well in their previous years."

Perenelle laughed lightly, "That is putting it mildly Nicolas. James would do some of the maddest things to get Lily's attention, and all she thought of him as was an arrogant braggart."

"Apparently, James had apologized on the Express for being, and don't quote me on this, an insufferable git. Of course, given his record as an unrepentant prankster, she didn't take anything he said at face value. So she told him that actions would have to suit words.

"Now, one of the things that really drew my attention to your parents was how they used their magic. When he had the time and inclination, your father was an artist when it came to transfiguration, beautiful and elegant in his work. But he was also making use of what could be considered the complete opposite, the fast, ugly, and vicious use of transfiguration inside of a fight. While people who have had the time and experience can make it look better, it always starts as ugly as sin."

As Nicolas took some time to eat, Perenelle picked up the story, "Now your mother, if one simply looked at her grades, they could call her bright, a genius, or any of a number of adjectives, and stop there, but that would not be giving the unimaginable talent she had justice. I had a wonderful time trotting esoteric spells out of our library, trying to find something that she couldn't use inside of fifteen minutes. I can count the number of times that happened on one hand with fingers left over. But if that was it, she would only be a little remarkable, and not at all able to catch my husband's attention as a potential student."

Nicolas nodded quite energetically at this and started speaking again, "But she never left it at just that, she always tried to peel the layers back, and see what more there was to learn. And that leads me to say that though their magic was one of the things that caught our eyes, there was far more to them than that..."

* * *

Following the meal where Harry learned more about his parents than he had known in his entire life, they made their way to Professor McGonagall's office. After they had all sat, Perenelle kicked the meeting off, "Nicolas, Alistair, and I have talked about it, and have gotten Harry's opinion on the subject, and it has been decided that we will become Harry's guardians."

Nicolas got a rather shark-like grin on his face as he continued the thought where his wife left off, "We'll be coming back on Friday with the paperwork needed to transfer custody from Alistair and the Castle to ourselves, and we shall be taking Harry for that weekend to take care of quite a bit of business that needs to be done. A trip to Saint Mungo's is the biggest thing that needs to get taken care of this weekend though."

"Though we may have to take him a few times more, depending on what gets done, and if any new issues pop up. I assume that when you took Harry to Diagon Alley, you suggested some of other things he might need?"

The Head of Gryffindor winced at this and said, "I wasn't the one who took Harry to the Alley for the first time, Albus said he would take care of it," she turned to Harry and asked, "Just who showed you around Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter?"

Scratching the back of his head, the young man in question simply stated, "Hagrid."

All of the adults had some negative reaction at this, McGonagall muttered a Gaelic curse, Perenelle winced, and Nicolas decided he would need no subtly and his palm was reintroduced to his forehead.

Nicolas recovered first and said, "Well that means that there is a little more to do, but it isn't any trouble."

The conversation passed off to Perenelle, who said, "I think that is all, anything you can add Minerva?"

Shaking her head, McGonagall rose and saw them out of her office.

Stepping out of the office, Perenelle asked, "When is your last class on Friday?"

After putting the freshly re-disguised Alistair back on his head, he pulled his schedule out of a pocket and glanced at it, "Unless Professor McGonagall manages to procure a new Defense instructor by then, Herbology lets out at four."

"It'll be unlikely that will happen. And from what Alistair told us about those sadists that raised you, it would probably be easier if we bought you clothes and other essentials rather than packing for the weekend, so just show up outside of the doors to the Entrance Hall after class."

He nodded and started walked toward the Tower and his bed.

* * *

Mulling over the remains of his breakfast, and having been the first Lion at the meal, Harry was leafing through his potions books. He was interrupted however by the Twins sitting down on either side of him.

"Was the Hat serious about..."

"...what he said yesterday?"

Quirking an eyebrow at the pair, Harry poked the red and gold watchcap he had on, and said, "Which comment was that?"

"It called you..."

"... the Son of Prongs!"

_'That I did. Ask them to show you that map of theirs, and have __**you**__ activate it, but instead of whatever it is they tell you to say to activate it, instead say, "Another Potter_ _solemnly swears he is up to no good." I think you will enjoy it. If they don't tell you what to do, just place your wand on it and say the phrase.'_

"He's talking about some sort of map..."

The twins leaned forward and shared a look. The one on Harry's left stuffed the firsties's books in his bag and grabbed it, while the other hauled the raven haired eleven year old to his feet. The pair of them then hauled Harry out of the Hall and into the nearest empty classroom.

"Well then..."

"... if the Hat says..."

"... you are the son of Prongs..."

"... then let's see if you know what this bit of parchment is."

And then they handed him a piece of parchment, and Harry rolled his eyes and said, "My da has been dead for a little under a decade, but if it wasn't for Alistair I wouldn't know how to do this..." He then pulled out his wand, tapped it on the sheet, and said, "Another Potter solemnly swears he is up to no good."

The Twins shared a startled look, and moved to either side of Harry to watch, as the Hat trailed out line after line of text.

* * *

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs  
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers  
are proud to present to the next generation  
THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

_Prongs would like to congratulate his son on getting his hands on this map._

_Moony also extends his congratulations and hopes this map aids in many fine pranks._

_Wormtail bids the Heir of Potter a good day, and hopes he has the hair of his mother, whoever she is._

_Padfoot extends his hope that the Prongslet has found this map in his first year so he can get more use out of it._

* * *

And then, instead of the aforementioned map, the parchment filled with a list of commands annotated with explanations of what they do.

The left twin starts, "George, do you know what this means?"

"That the map is obviously more useful than it already is?"

"Obviously, but it also means that we now have a partner in crime in our house!"

"Well that was more than obvious, my good twin. Besides which, we weren't exactly going to let Ronnikins in on the pranking, even if he **had **been in Gryffindor."

"Yes, well it is sad to say our brother has too big of a mouth to keep the secrets necessary to be a good prankster."

"And if nothing else, we can give Harrykins here a chance."

But Harry had heard absolutely none of this, his eyes were locked on the handwriting on 'Prongs' a.k.a. James Potter, and he was running his finger along the line of text.

The twin on the left snapped his fingers under Harry's nose, "Hey, Harry, snap out of it."

"Huh? Sorry, Fred, I just got a little distracted." He handed the map to George. "I've still got plenty of time before potions, so I think I'm going to have a bit of a lie0down."

As Harry exited the room, the twins shared a worried look.

* * *

After having dropped his bag on top of his trunk, hung Alistair up on the headboard, and kicked off his trainers, Harry laid down on the bed stretching out.

"You okay kid?"

"I'll be fine Al, I just need to rest my eyes for a bit."

He did indeed close his eyes, but he didn't rest. Instead a number of the voices started in on him.

_'Just like how you reacted yesterday, when hearing you'd be taken in by friends of your parents. Going to keep going on with the farce that you are fine? So willing to point out a flaw in another that you once had, and help her fix it, but still so blind to your own.' _The calm voice, the voice of reason, lightly chided.

_'Anyone, __**anyone**__, in my position would want to get as much information on their parents as possible.'_

_'Not really, what those berks did to you for the last decade is not what most people in your position go through. They have families that they care about, that care about them, families that don't even think about whether or not the one they are raising is their direct blood or not. May the Dursleys burn in hellfire for what they did.' _This voice, slightly edgier, and more easily angered, had always wanted to do to the Dursleys what they did to them, or at the very least seek recompense within the system.

_'I never wanted to hurt anyone. And I would rather just be shut of them, even if it means I can never have revenge... which has always sounded a bit hollow and petty cause to me anyway.'_

A third voice chimed in, this one always sounded as a mixture of sadness and hope, but had still always been one of the strongest, even if it also spoke the least, _'Harming others will only harm you. Pain is not something to be spread. It is to be fought and destroyed. Yes, there should be justice, else criminals would just run free and repeat their crimes.'_

_'I know. I know.'_

* * *

Making his way down to the dungeons , he leaned against the wall outside of the potions class room. He was the first there, mainly because he was a good forty-five minutes early. So he spent that time with Alistair strengthening the physical defenses of his mind, reinforcing the doors with super-hard magical woods and metals, creating complex locks, and ensuring air-tightness everywhere. Over the curtain wall, Alistair taught him how to build a dome shaped barricade of nothingness that would force invaders to take a run at his walls instead of just going above them. At this point there were less than ten minutes before class, and Alistair decided that was enough for the moment.

Neville and Hermione were standing near him giving him odd looks. Neville ventured to ask in a whisper, "You've been standing there with your eyes closed since we got here, and that was fifteen minutes ago. What were you doing?"

Sighing, Harry pulled himself away from the wall, "It ties in to what happened during the opening feast. So..."

Hermione chimed in, "Ask you again later?"

"Indeed."

At this point the door to the classroom opened, apparently of its own accord. The class shuffled in, Gryffindors taking on side of the classroom, and the Slytherins the other. Harry and Neville, at Neville's insistence, took the table at the extreme back of the classroom. Neville started talking about the horror stories that he had heard from older Lions about potions. All Harry did in response was smirk.

A minute later, Professor Snape entered the classroom, tossing two copies of a book on each table as he passed. The book was titled '_The Basics of Potion Making'_ with no author credited. He then stood at the front of the class and looked each and every Gryffindor in the eyes, ending with Harry.

A force made a quick, brutal run at Harry's mental defenses, and he winced when it rebounded off like a tennis ball off a wall. In the moment between the first attack and any that may have followed, Alistair overlaid his own defenses upon Harry's mind.

When Snape made his second run at the Potter brat's mind, which was far better protected than what Albus had told him it should be, he instead found himself rushing, and then _sealed_, into a bare stone room. The only thing in it was a white marble plinth with the Sorting Hat sitting on it. Snape would have paled, if he hadn't already been as white as a sheet.

"**SEVERUS SNAPE**, you are already on probation. You have just taken a run at the mind of a Ward of Hogwarts. I assumed you got by the stipulation to treat all students equally in that if you were going to get into Harry's mind, you would also have to do that to the **entire** student body. This is the first warning of your probation. And any repeat uses of Legilimency against **any****one** in this castle will result in your immediate **sacking**. Now, _**GET OUT**_!"

Back outside of Alistair's mindscape Snape stared at Harry a few seconds longer than anyone else. He then shook his head, and gave his little speech about potions making (Ravenclaw has records, it hasn't changed since he started teaching) to the class.

"All of you will read this book, from cover to cover. If you finish before class ends, you are to read it again. And if you somehow manage to finish a second time, you are to go back to page one and begin reading. For homework, you are to read the book at least two more times. Next class we will be going over basic lab safety, and next week you will be tested on the book and what we go over Thursday. Now begin, and there shall be no talking."

* * *

They had transfiguration again, followed by History of Magic.

Since Binns had to be replaced, but all students outside the final two years were already down a course, Alistair had been correct in that McGonagall kept the ghost teaching until she could find a replacement. Alistair encouraged Harry to read the material outside of class, and instead take a nap, rather than fight off the somnolence inducing effects of the ghost's voice. Though a suggestion was voiced of getting sound blocking ear protection and doing his History Studying in class if Binns was forced to finish out the term. After five minutes, Harry had agreed, and was out like a light.

After class however, Hermione, who had sat next to him during that class, started in on him, "Harry, how can you ever expect to pass History if you have your eyes closed?"

"Because for the first five minutes of class, all he said came directly from our text, word for word. It was the first chapter."

Her mouth just opened and closed for a minute, and then she pulled out her text as the three of them went to the library to wait for dinner. After quickly reading the chapter mentioned, she made a distressed sound. "But still he's a teacher we should..."

"Hermione, if I may make a suggestion, he is not human. He used to be, but he is not any longer. Treating something that isn't human as human... I can only think of it as something dangerous to do. Not that you shouldn't treat non-humans with respect, goblins didn't end up with control of the one bank in Magical Britain by losing."

"But he's a professor. He is part of the authority."

"And if and when I tell you about what happened last night, and by extension the rest of my bloody life, you will understand why I am wary of most of the authority figures in this castle, save our Head of House."

She could only stare at Harry for the rest of the walk to the library. She wondered what he was hiding, because that was all he could be doing, hiding something.

* * *

The rest of the week continued on as it had begun, with Harry aiding the twins in turning the hair of the entirety of House Slytherin green and silver. This involved a trip into the kitchens with Harry distracting the house elves.

Watching little creatures were running every which way he couldn't help but smile at the innocent excited energy of them. And all it took to get them even more distracted at having a new visitor was for Harry to say, "I'm feeling a might bit peckish."

Friday at breakfast, Neville received a package from his Gran. Ripping the paper off and opening it, he pulled out a clear glass ball with a band of copper circling it that was filled with gray smoke. Picking it up, he said, "Brilliant, Gran sent me a Remembrall, I'm always forgetting something, the smoke turns red if you've forgotten something..." but it stayed clear so he stuffed it in his bag.

However, after lunch, the Gryffindors had flying lessons with Slytherin (who most of whom were still sporting the colored hair). Malfoy and Ronald had been getting into a boasting contest about how experienced they were on brooms. Malfoy was currently 'winning' having led a helicopter on death-defying chase.

Harry was only listening to Madam Hooch's speech with one ear as he tried to get Neville to calm down, and it seemed to be working as he had stopped twitching.

Neville calmly told his broom "Up!" and it was in his hand, like Harry's, but Hermione whimpered at hers. Maybe she was afraid of heights?

And coincidentally, both Draco and Ronald proven to be blowhard gits about their broomriding expertise when Madam Hooch first corrected Draco's grip and then when everyone was told to kick off, Ron shot up into the air and broke his wrist when he fell. She assigned Draco and his muscle to haul Ron to the hospital wing.

Harry enjoyed flying, and he figured with all the gold in his vault, he'd get himself a broom next year, if only so he could relax using it. After class, Hooch pulled him aside, and pointed out the rules only stated that first years were not allowed to own brooms, and that a (very small) number of players on the House Quidditch teams used school brooms. He nodded and told her that he understood. He had talked quite a bit with the twins about Quidditch, it seemed like something he might want to try... in fact they had mentioned that the Gryffindor House team needed a seeker.

* * *

Friday finally rolled around, and following the last class of the day, found the trio of Gryffindors a bit dirty and slightly disheveled, Harry, Neville and Hermione made their way back into the castle. Harry not really feeling up to giving a full explanation, started talking when they got near the doors and the two adults near the entrance.

"My new guardians are taking me out of the castle for the weekend to take care of some things they said should have been taken care of when I was first taken to Diagon Alley but weren't. I'll see you two on Sunday."

Before they could even respond, he sped up and greeted the two adults, and they headed off towards the gates.

Hermione huffed, and said, "He keeps entirely too many secrets..."

Neville shrugged, "Everyone has a right to secrets Hermione, and I have a feeling that Harry will most likely talk, he keeps saying so. But it will probably be later rather than sooner."

All she had to say to this was to huff again.

* * *

Walking towards the gates, Nicolas and Perenelle, who told him not to call them Mr. and Mrs. Flamel, nor sir and ma'am, asked about his week. He talked about how classes had gone, and about someone talking a run at his mental defenses in potions. He talked most about flying lessons, and his intent to at least try out for the house team, even if he could not own his own broom this year.

After going through the gates, Nicolas directed Harry to grab onto his forearm, and not let go until he said so. Warily Harry did so, and then it felt like he was being dragged through a long rubber tube.

He started cursing though he could hear what he was saying, and wasn't even thinking of which curses he was spewing until he heard his voice again, "... bloody buggering hell!"

"Harry James Potter!" Perenelle's voice cracked out, "Watch your language or I'll wash your mouth out with soap!"

He quickly clamped his mouth shut as Nicolas started speaking, "Now, what you just experienced was side-along apparation. For those witches and wizards capable of it, most are capable of going from one end of the island of Great Britain to the other. Though the amount of power required starts increasing rather drastically when travel goes over bodies of water deeper than one hundred meters, with distance over the water and depth being the two largest factors. Most are capable of crossing the Channel, but ocean crossings are considered suicide."

Now that he had a chance to look around, he noticed that they appeared to be in Diagon Alley.

A hand on his shoulder drew both a flinch and his attention to Nicolas, who gently steered Harry into following Perenelle, who was heading into what looked to be an oculist's shop if the sign indicated anything.

* * *

Walking out of the shop a little over half an hour later, Harry adjusted his new glasses, silently marveling at how clear everything was. And being amazed at the fact that the Flamels actually cared about his opinion. They were the same general shape as his old ones, and the same color, though they were a bit larger, his old ones having been from years ago and were now quite small on his face. Alistair gave him a second opinion of the few pairs of glasses he had tried that were different from his current ones, but none had really caught his eye. He also remembered that the kindly old lady who ran the oculist's had reminded him as they were leaving that even though the glasses were self-correcting to small degree his still needed to get his eyes checked yearly.

And now Perenelle was leading them into what seemed to be a shoe store...

* * *

Harry silently vowed that the only footwear that he would buy in the Wizarding World would be boots from this particular store. For someone used to wearing trainers, he just couldn't abide some of the things that they had. Though the person who made the boots must have spent quite a bit of time out in the normal world, as the dragonhide boots (if you discounted the material they were made of) looked like a pair combat boots.

Nicolas had laughed quite heartily that those were the only things in the store that Harry could stand, and muttered conspiratorially to the boy, "I happen to like what the mundane people of the world have done with footwear in the past couple decades. I love trainers."

And the size of a pair they had in stock was close enough that what little the sizing charms could do all the materials other than the dragonhide, meant that he walked out of the store with one very nice pair of boots. And the rest of the spellwork on the boots made them the most comfortable things he had ever had on his feet.

But Harry couldn't help but sigh as he was led into Madam Malkin's Robes of All Occasions.

* * *

Coming out of the store, Harry was starting to get quite tired of shopping. He had been fitted for a dozen new robes, three of which were thicker woolen robes in the same style as his thinner cotton school uniform robes, while the rest were more like the robes that he saw on other people about the Alley, though his preferred style were ones that could be worn with an open front.

Perenelle was quite adamant in what colors Harry should wear, but since her suggestions were those that he happened to agree with, he really didn't mind, especially since she focused on what colors would look good on him, rather than just telling him what to get.

They also got him a three new cloaks, as currently he only had the one that went with his Hogwarts uniform for winter, one was in the same style as his Hogwarts cloak, but meant for storms and it was hooded. The other two were dark green with bronze fastenings, one for winter wear and the other for stormy weather, and Harry had asked for them both to be hooded.

And everything was also spelled for some degree of growth, and because of that they only came out with two robes for Harry, one to wear now and the other for tomorrow. The one he was wearing was a dark blue.

A soft, "Harry," from behind him, was enough warning that he didn't flinch when Nicolas put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and said, "One more stop and then we can get something to eat. Now come on, we can't keep my darling wife waiting in the luggage store."

* * *

Harry always knew that the phrase 'You learn something new everyday' was true. Today he had found out that he had a family coat of arms. That was definitely news to him. While they didn't come out of the store that sold luggage with anything due to that fact, because it brought out the desire to have said coat of arms on both his new trunk and school bag.

The trunk had four compartments, two that were simply empty spaces four times the size that the dimensions of the trunk should be, one that had a wardrobe rise up that had a large compartment was only just a little shy of being big enough to be a walk-in closet and two large drawers, and the last caused a desk to expand out of the trunk with a chair that could expand and shrink, and the drawers on the desk could hold quite a bit as well.

His new bag was rather simple, it was black leather and had three compartments, all that were bigger on the inside, and the entire thing was charmed to be feather light.

At this point, Harry managed to drag them to look at brooms for fifteen minutes. Then he really wanted to eat.

* * *

After some simple pub fare at the Leaky Cauldron, Perenelle mentioned that Harry still needed a new mundane wardrobe. Harry sighed, and just hoped it wouldn't take too long, he was starting to get tired.

* * *

As Harry flopped down onto the bed of his room (his mind locked up for a moment that he was begrudgingly being given houseroom), which had an attached full bath, in his new home (again his thoughts bogged down at actually calling a place home and possibly meaning it, the Dursleys' had always been a residence, never even a hope of home). When Perenelle had said he needed a new wardrobe, she really did mean it. He had ended up with enough clothes to wear something different every day for three weeks without having to launder anything, and even then he would probably need new clothes come spring or summer if he started catching up in his growth.

Most of the bags from the shopping trip hand been unshrunk and put into his room, though he didn't have the energy to unpack yet. The clothes from muggle London were somewhere else, Perenelle having told him she would spend some time adding charms so that they would grow with him enough to hopefully last until summer.

By this point he was far too tired to go through his memories of the day, so he hung Alistair off of one of the corners of the headboard, Harry muttered a sleepy, "'Night Al," before he curled with his head under the pillow and passed out for the night, fully clothed on top of the covers.

* * *

Waking up, Harry found that someone had draped a blanket over him in the middle of the night. He blinked for a minute, and then lay there confused. No one had ever done anything like that for him before. Ever. It felt... nice. Why would either Nicolas or Perenelle do that for him? They barely knew him. In fact why were they doing any of this?

He shook his head, and stomped hard on those thoughts. He sat up, crossed his legs, and sunk down into his mindscape. He started by going through his memories from the day before. As he did this, he also checked on his memories from a few classes during the week, and he noticed that the more he worked on storing his memories, the easier it was to recall what he knew. He also took the time to start filling the shelves with books, even if they were either blank or filled with nonsense. He then took a stroll through out the entire complex in his mind, tightening up his defenses.

Finishing with that, he pulled Al on his head, and they double checked the defenses on his mind. The Hat then said, "Not too bad Harry. These are actually fairly impressive for purely physical mental defenses. That is the furthest most people who practice Occlumency go. Now do you want to go further or stop here?"

The answering grin was all Alistair needed.

"Right, ask an obvious question, get an obvious answer. You are really enjoying this aren't you? Now onto the second part of off-White mind defenses, misdirection. The fact is you are already practicing a form of it. Are all the books here in your mind actually populated with memories or information?"

"No, only about a tenth, if that. The rest are mostly blank, but a few have nonsense in them."

"Exactly. If anyone ever makes it this far, they will have to take longer to actually find anything of value. One thing you will want to take the time to do is to put something, anything, in each book, rather than leaving them blank. Nonsense works in a pinch, but you want to make them take as long as possible to get through the muck. Meaningless poetry works if you are in a pinch. Now to actually build it into you defenses..."

Alistair then directed Harry into disguising both the outer gate and the main doors, while at the same time explaining some of the basic mechanics of illusion magic, making Harry have them look like regular walls. He also instructed Harry to make a few dummy rooms, that contained nothing of interest. A few false entrances were added to the 'manor' to keep anyone from realizing that the main entrances were hidden. It would take time to put details into these defenses, but that could be done at Harry's leisure. He already had plans on filling out the manor that housed his memories, while also making the inside completely different than the outside. Filling the space between the manor and the outer walls with a maze also came to mind. With the equivalent of part of the coming week's 'lessons' in Occlumency, Harry decided to go back over everything he had learned in during classes last week.

* * *

Harry was brought out of his studying by Nicolas tapping on his shoulder.

"Practicing your Occlumency, Harry?"

"Not really, I was going over what I learned this week."

"Any use of Occlumency, whether for defense or memory recollection, works toward improving it. The more you fiddle with your walls and other defenses, the easier they are to build and rebuild. And the more you sort through your memories, and the more you pore over them, the easier it is for you to recall them. Come on, Pen is making breakfast, and keeping her waiting is something not even the bravest Lions like to do."

Climbing out of bed and stretching, he followed Nicolas to the kitchen. Now that he was actually paying attention to his surroundings, which due to exhaustion, he didn't last night, the warm earth tones on the walls and the dark woods felt cozy. He couldn't help but feel he might enjoy living here.

Getting into the kitchen, he figured out where he was expected to sit from the half a dozen familiar looking potions sitting in front of it. He sighed and sat down, and Alistair said, "Stop your bellyaching. If you don't drink them, you're just gonna drag out your treatment longer. And I will still have to deal with your complaining. Plus, you'll still be short."

Both Nicolas and Perenelle chuckled at this, and then about five minutes after Harry had downed the potions, they tucked in to breakfast. They ate in silence, though there was passing mention of Harry's father being a Quidditch player, having served as Chaser on the Gryffindor House team.

"James was a great flier," Nicolas had said, "But he had a tendency towards showboating that sometimes made games harder for his team."

Harry helped clear the table after the meal, though Perenelle started the dishes cleaning themselves with a few flicks of her wand.

Perenelle turned her attention to Harry as she tucked her wand away, "You go get washed and dressed. Please wear some of the better looking clothes, we have an appointment at Gringotts to speak with the manager of the Potter Accounts. We managed to get both of you parents' wills unsealed during the week. We're also curious as to whether the goat molester has been light in the fingers with your trust fund."

* * *

Dressed in plain black slacks, with a rust colored button up shirt, blood-red robes, and his new boots (which he had _really_ taken a liking to), the three walked into Gringotts at quarter past ten. They made their way to the office of the manager of the Potter Accounts, and told the receptionist that they awaited his pleasure. Harry had been given a crash course on how to relate to goblins by Nicolas and Perenelle as they walked from the Leaky Cauldron to the bank.

Nicolas was quite firm as he said, "Be polite, but don't overdo it. Goblins are quite profit oriented, and take the saying 'Time is money' to heart, so keep that in mind. Never call their language Gobbledygook. I can't pronounce its real name myself, and I have been trying for five centuries. If you have to smile, try not to show any teeth. Goblins are predators by nature, and showing lots of teeth is generally taken as a threat. Those are the biggest points, so stick to them and you can at least have a lukewarm relationship with Gringotts, rather than disdain or animosity. Everything else is helpful but optional, and you can pick it up over time."

At twenty past ten, they were let into the office, and without a nameplate, or any introductions, Harry recognized the goblin sitting behind the desk.

"Griphook?"

Nicolas and Perenelle stared at Harry for just a moment, and then they looked at the aforementioned goblin.

The goblin grinned (not showing any teeth, it was actually rather unsettling given the facial features of the race), and said, "You must have both a fairly good memory and a good eye for details, Mr. Potter, because most of your kind cannot tell one goblin from another. Please, all three of you, have a seat. I assume this meeting has to do with the repeated and rather rude transgressions of one Albus Dumbledore?"

The three nodded as they sat down, but before they could say anything more, Griphook continued, "Then you are most likely here to both get the details on Mr. Potter's trust fund, and to see if you can catch a glance at Gringotts held copies of the wills of James and Lily Potter?"

Again, nods, and he plowed on forward, wasting no time, he pulled a folder from off his desk and passed it to Nicolas, "That is everything Mr. Potter will ever need to know about his trust fund," he took a pair of black ribbon tied scrolls, and passed them to Perenelle, "And these are the wills of James and Lily Potter."

The office descended into silence as each of the adults read through the papers that they had. Curious, Harry asked Griphook, "So why were you waiting to take me down to my vault when I first came to Diagon Alley?"

"Because it is goblin tradition for account managers to take the heirs to major accounts where the family is on good terms with Goblin Nation down themselves on the first visit to each vault. I did not see any reason for Dumbledore's then apparent but undetermined meddling to interfere with such a tradition."

"Thank you, Griphook."

"You're welcome, Mr. Potter."

Perenelle passed the will to Nicolas, who passed the trust fund report to Harry.

* * *

_Vault 687_

_The Trust Fund of Harry James Potter_

_The vault is to be filled to ten thousand (10,000) galleons each year, upon Harry James Potter's birthday July the Thirty-First (31st)._

_Withdrawals as of this year: _

_Two hundred (200) galleons, seventy (70) sickles, and one hundred (100) knuts withdrawn physically from vault by Harry James Potter;_

_One thousand, five hundred (1,500) galleons to Hogwarts tuition paid in full on September the First (1st)._

_Summary of withdrawals of all previous years:_

_Ten thousand (10,000) galleons withdrawn yearly on July the Thirtieth (30th) starting in Nineteen hundred and eighty-two (1982) by the financial guardian of Harry James Potter, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. One thousand (1000) of which was always converted to British Pounds upon withdrawal._

* * *

After several minutes of silence, Harry said, "So Dumbledore has been stealing from me..."

Griphook nodded solemnly, "I am afraid so, and since he was able to legally declare himself as your financial guardian, there is little recompense you can seek. However we should be glad that with the sealing of your parents' apparent wills, 100,000 galleons was all that he could steal. If he had had access to your family vaults, I am afraid the damage could have been much, much worse."

"Do you have any idea where the money converted into pounds went?"

"There is no proof, but when word of your custody being changed due to some illegal actions by your guardians, I started looking. There are records of there being deposits made by either your aunt or uncle on or soon after the 30th of July each year. I have forwarded this evidence, however circumstantial, to the DMLE. So it is entirely likely that if the DMLE investigates your aunt and uncle for theft, you might be able to bring civil charges against them and possibly get some of that back."

"Thank you again, Griphook."

"I am only doing my job."

Harry then passed the trust fund report to Perenelle, and received the wills, which by and large were undecipherable legalese to him. There were a few points that he was generally able to wrap his head around. One was the list of who would gain custody of him, which was basically mirrored in each will, naming first the surviving spouse, and then his godfather, Sirius Black, his godmother Alice Longbottom (he wondered if that was Neville's mother), Nicolas and Perenelle, Amelia Bones, and the last listed in the will was Professor McGonagall, though there was mention of an attached document list additional options if the first five were unable.

There was also a section of his mother's will specifically mentioned that her sister was to get nothing.

There was also a particular section that existed in both wills that mentioned that if their Secret Keeper gave up their location, that he should either be revenged because he was tortured into giving up their location, or that they owed him thirty sickles for betraying them of his own free will.

* * *

Harry just blinked several times after he finished reading the will. He glanced up to see Griphook sliding an envelope across the desk for him. Harry pocketed it.

Nicolas broke the quiet, "I'd always known Sirius was innocent, but now we can prove it. Griphook, can you get an official copy of each of the wills to the DLME, along with copies to where ever they are needed to execute it?"

"Of course. I shall start it immediately. As to Lord Black, I shall contact his account manager and see to it that a solicitor is put on retainer and notified that he will finally have a trial."

Harry counted on his fingers for a moment, said, "I think that is everything..." Looked to Nicolas and Perenelle both nodded, "... then I'd like to thank you for your valuable time, and bid you good day." Harry stood up with Nicolas and Perenelle, gave the goblin a short bow and said, "May your vaults always overflow, Griphook."

"May your vaults always overflow, Mr. Potter."

Before they left, Harry went down to his vault and withdrew his 200 galleon allowance for the month. He had a plan for that money...

* * *

The rest of the day went rather uneventfully, with the group grabbing a quick and quiet lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and then apparating back to the house.

And Harry finally got a tour of his new home. There was of course the kitchen, which was pleasantly sized, plenty of counter space in what looked to be a dark reddish-brown granite, with reddish earth tones from the counter being the predominate colors in the room. The appliances looked to be a little dated (Nicolas had said, "Our wards are old enough and the location has enough ambient magic that nothing with a microchip can survive.") and functioned mostly though magic. The room also served as a dining room, and with the way everything was arranged it was quite cozy.

Next came the sitting room, which held a number of bookshelves ("If I'm not puttering around in my greenhouse or doing some research, and if Nicolas isn't finding some new and interesting way of blowing himself up, this is where we usually end up, enjoying a good book."), a currently unlit, but very large fireplace, and a Wizarding Wireless, though it did not get much use. There was a soft looking couch and two armchairs that looked comfortable. All the colors of the room were earthen greens.

The library was easily the largest room in the house. It had nothing on the Hogwarts library, but for what two people had in their home it was quite awe inspiring. Just looking at all those books made Harry's fingers itch. He was then shown to the lab spaces, and told that he would get his own to use unsupervised after he either passed third year potions with an O or passed fourth year. Otherwise he would need one of the adults giving supervision. The door to Nicolas and Perenelle's bedroom was pointed out, and he was told to remain out unless invited in, but if he needed of them and couldn't find either of them, he should knock.

The tour moved outside afterwards, where from the outside the house looked like a simple fieldstone cottage, nowhere near large enough for all that was in it. It sat in field surrounded by forest, though the clearing was about one hundred feet in diameter, and almost perfectly circular. From the front of the house all the grass that he saw, save for an area about twenty feet around from the center of building that was perfectly manicured, was knee high, the two sections were separated by a white picket fence. When they came around to the back of the house, Harry saw Perenelle's greenhouse. Its nearest wall was ten feet from the house, and it extended out about twenty feet past the fence.

"Now, you can go into it, so long as you don't hurt any of my plants," Perenelle had said, "Just be careful about going to deep into it, I have quite a few dangerous specimens."

And finally he was pointed toward a shed that was against the backside of the cottage. "And that is our broomshed. While we don't have anything that would make any broom jockeys salivate, they'll get you in the air and keep you there."

With that said, he was left to his own devices. He spent most of the afternoon flying, enjoying the freedom of being in the sky, before landing after a couple of hours to go do some detail work on his defenses. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Harry pulled Alistair from where he left the hat that morning and dropped the headwear on his noggin.

"You weren't too bored today, were you Al?"

"Not at all, Harry. Nicolas was kind enough to give me access to the library here, so I was able to keep myself busy. Which was it today, St. Mungo's or Gringotts?"

They had a short conversation about what had happened that day, and Alistair started muttering something in Greek that Harry was fairly certain he didn't want translated. Taking the hat back off his head, Harry started his meditation and entered his mindscape, and so got to work.

He was gotten for dinner half an hour later. After a rather nice meal of some roast and boiled potatoes (definitely nicer and more filling than any with his old 'family'), he decided to poke around the library until he wanted to go to sleep. He found that they had a mix of magical and mundane fiction, along with countless magical theory texts, the vast majority of which he was sure were well above his skill level. Curling up with the children's version of _'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'_, Harry got a look at what stories he would have been told if his parents will had been executed. He viciously killed the nascent end of the rest of that thought...

_'or if his parents had lived...'_

He also got the more mature versions of the tales. Kinda like the tales of the Brothers Grimm, there were separate watered down stories, but then there were the older versions that weren't so nice.

* * *

The morning the next day was basically a repeat of the previous day, with the only difference was Alistair's insistence on tagging along to St. Mungo's, however the conversation at the breakfast table centered on the apparent innocence of Sirius Black.

"So, I have a godfather," Harry started, "But he has been in prison for what exactly?"

"Fourteen counts of murder and two counts of accessory to murder if I remember what I read about what passed for a trial." Perenelle said.

Nicolas continued, "What you really need to know Harry is that the Ministry was in complete shambles at that point. The people in charge were mostly those who took the hardest line against the Death Eaters, but there were enough sympathizers scattered through the Ministry that when a number Death Eaters who were considered the social elite spread the right bribes, they got off claiming they were under various compulsions, and never even had to stand trial.

"Then there were those who got dragged into the court room, and all that really happened was a show on how hard they were against any Death Eater they got their hands on. One thing that your parents' wills may lead to is a mass of proper trials. But who knows, the current regime in the Ministry hates appearing wrong, and may try to bury this as much as possible."

"Oh."

* * *

After finishing breakfast, they left for St. Mungo's for a ten thirty appointment for a full physical with Healer Tonks at Saint Mungo's. They had apparated to relatively close to the apparently abandoned department store that it was housed in. They made their way through the lobby to where Healers rented out private office space, and then spent half an hour waiting and filling out forms before they were then led to an examination room.

Which bore absolutely no resemblance to what Harry thought a muggle examination room would look like, though his ideas mostly stemmed from his primary school. There were a few plush chairs, a tall stool, and a padded table, but everything lacked the sterile overtones that he expected.

After about five minutes of waiting, Healer Tonks walked in, and seeing Harry, the Hat, and his new guardians, smiled. "Well I must say Alistair, you worked quite quickly in getting Mr. Potter new guardians. And ones that take the initiative at that."

The hat chuckled, and responded, "I like to think that it is that luck came from grinding all of Dumbledore's finely laid plans into finely spread dust and using them as fuel."

Harry's response to this was a vicious, victorious smile.

"Well then, up on the stool, Mr. Potter, and let us get started."

Harry spent a very odd half an hour sitting mostly still, as Healer Tonks circled him, waving her wand and muttering in what sounded like badly mangled Latin while constantly taking notes. After she had finished that and was double checking the notes she had taken, "If there is nothing else, I need to go look up a few things, shouldn't take too long..."

"Actually there is," Perenelle asked, "Have you checked for any blocks or seals on him?"

Healer Tonks blinked, furrowed her brow in concentration for a few moments, and then replied, "No, it usually isn't called for in a standard. Usually families keep track of things like that, but apparently I've been running through the motions," She sighed softly and continued, "Those have never been my specialty, so while I can check on a basic level, I may need to call a consult to help if it goes beyond my skill level. Especially if the bindings go beyond simply his body, mind, and magic and into the deeper reaches of his being."

As she moved to Harry to run a few more scans, Nicolas added his own two knuts, "Could you also run a check for any other old spells on him, like monitoring and tracking charms, maybe a mail interdiction as well?"

"Of course."

Six quick detection spells that brought swear words later, Healer Tonks had a rather irate look on her face. Forcing a grin, Harry said, "I am guessing they all came up positive?"

Healer Tonks shot her patient a dirty look that shut him right up. "I am going to go get the best we have at this, I'll be back. And while they are doing their thing, I'll go over my notes from his physical."

She left the room, and Harry just sat on the stool, kicking his feet. He asked the hat, _'What did she mean by "deeper reaches"?'_

_'Do you remember on conversation Monday on wizard physiology?'_

_'Of course...'_

_'This goes quite a ways beyond that basic chat we had. In essence, every witch or wizard is made up of five things. The first three, the three that lay closest to the surface and that are easiest to effect, are often referred to as the upper reaches or simply the surface. They are comprised of the body, the mind, and the magics of a person and how they interact with each other as individual pieces and as a whole.'_

_'Okay, that seems basic enough, and makes what generally resembles a logic shaped object.'_

_'Then there are the two deeper elements, the two things which are the deeper source of the energies of a person, and these are often called either the lower reaches or the depths. These are comprised of the Soul and the Blood. But when referring the Blood, we don't simply mean the red stuff that runs through your veins. What is meant is the life energy of the person.'_

_'Have to take that one a little more on belief, but once again, a vaguely logic shaped object.'_

_'And that is it in essence. And here comes Healer Tonks.'_

_'And she brought company. Quite a bit of it, in fact.'_

Healer Tonks reentered the room, and paused as Harry seemed to have a distant look on his face while he was wearing the Sorting Hat. Was he having a conversation with the artifact? What kind of person prefers to talk to a centuries old ratty hat? Sure it was probably a perfect companion for the types of people who became Headmaster, a large number of whom were well noted eccentrics, but as a companion to an eleven year old? It was just strange, even for the Wizarding World.

Shaking her head to get back on the necessary, she had grabbed the Healers who were currently at Saint Mungo's who specialized in countering various seals, blocks and bindings on witches and wizards, and it was raw luck that all three of them were in the building. She had managed to get all of them to come by mentioning that whatever it was seemed to be a godawful tangle to the diagnostics that every Healer was taught.

One was a rather short red-headed man, he smiled and said "Hello, Mr. Potter, I'm Healer Gordon, and I specialized in blocks and seals on a person's magic, mind and body." while the other two,

The next was a tall black man with an Afro, who introduced himself as, "Healer Vega, and while I am proficient in most types of bindings, my specialty is shackles which effect the soul."

The last was a stern woman with bobbed blond hair, who simply spoke, "You may call me Healer Alana, and I am quite know for my treatments of blood based bindings."

"These are the absolute best St. Mungo's has to offer on dealing with various methods of blocking, sealing, and shackling of the various aspects of a witch or wizard. When they heard who they would be treating, they cleared their golf appointments."

The blond was the first of the three to speak, "If that is what I think it is, its presence on the patient is going to interfere with the diagnostics. "

Alistair responded with, "If you think that I am Alistair, the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, then you are in fact quite correct, miss. I just wish to say one thing before you start though. If my suspicions are correct, then the one who laid these bindings was Albus Dumbledore, so make sure you check for even the most esoteric of spells. And breaking them is going to take quite a bit of power."

Harry then took him off his head and looked around for a place to set Alistair down, when Nicolas came over and set him on his head.

What followed was forty-five minutes of the three new Healers tag teaming their way through detection and diagnostic spells. One would cast and record results while the other two would analyze, while occasionally they would stop and huddle together to get onto the same page.

Afterwards the Healer with the Afro said, "We're going to need a few hours to go over everything and come up with a course of action, but I believe Healer Tonks wishes to speak with you now."

As the three filed out of the room, Andromeda said, "First, is that there a few more potions that I want to add to Harry's daily regimen, mostly to fix a few additional nutritional deficiencies that my first diagnostics missed, though there is also one that I am adding that will just generally promote healing. Harry is going to need to spend a few nights in the Hospital at some point.

"There were a few broken bones that healed well enough that only doctors would have caught onto it, but I still want them fixed. We will probably end up vanishing the bones and just regrowing them. There is also some soft tissue damage that could be better healed if it was given some attention. Otherwise everything that is physically wrong with Harry can be fixed with time and potions. Now, I want to triple check my results, my colleagues should be ready in about two hours."

* * *

The Flamels decided to treat Harry to Thai food. Harry decided that Nicolas and Perenelle should have warned him about how bloody spicy Thai food was.

All said, it was an hour and a three-quarters later that saw the seven witches and wizards, plus one enchanted hat, reconvening in a conference room. Healer Tonks began the meeting, "Having gone over everything from Harry's physical one last time, there is nothing I need to add, but I want to have checkups every month for at least half a year.

"However to the rather... numerous..."

Healer Vega made an inarticulate sound of rage at this understatement.

Healer Alana picked it up from there, "There are two ways which we can deal with the problem from here. First and foremost, no matter which course of action is chosen, we cannot remove the bindings in the depths without first clearing the upper reaches. "

Now Healer Gordon broke in, "The first way is that we have almost daily examinations of you for about a year, carefully mapping and plotting just what was done to you, trying to figure out what the last spell applied to you was. As this is done, spells and enchantments are also cast loosening the bonds as much as possible without dispelling them completely. While we do this, we start planning on just how we are going disspell each individual enchantment, and what order we are going to do it. The soonest the upper reaches will be cleared on this course will be eighteen months, and that is a really optimistic estimation, it could take anywhere from two to four years to clear off the upper levels the slow way."

Alistair decided now was as good a time to interrupt as any other, "And I take it plan B is the brute force method?"

Harry chimed in, "Probably the more painful of the two too."

"Yes, about that. Your pain tolerances are fairly good from what I've seen from your memories... fairly good for a retired veteran Auror. For an eleven year old they are ridiculous."

"And that was before I had these, 'fairly impressive brute force mental protections' as you put it, to hide behind."

"True. I vote for plan B."

"I agree with the headwear, plan B it is."

All of the adults stared at the pair slightly slack-jawed, the healers especially. Those two had just managed to figure out the generalities of what was going to be said next, on next to no details.

Perenelle decided to break the rather unsettling silence brought on by the strange adolescent and smug hat. "Are you sure about this Harry, Nicolas and I only have a vague idea of how bad it was at your previous home..."

"It was never home."

This struck the conversation dead again, until Healer Vega said, "If it has been decided we can get to performing the ritual immediately, the sooner we get this done, the better."

* * *

A half an hour later, laying on a bed in the middle of a rather intricate runic circle, the healers told Harry that if he was going to hide behind whatever Occlumency shields he had, he should get started. Dropping into his mediation, and following a minute later into his mindscape, Harry started sealing everything shut, while trying out a few of the exercises Alistair taught him of how to be aware of what was going on outside his mind.

He had been waiting for five minutes before something struck his outer walls from all directions all at once. He shifted quickly to his front gate, which had taken a rather solid hit. A minute later it was struck again. Between strikes, Harry let go of his hold on real time, as he wanted a little more time to work if he needed it. He moved closer to the main gate, and took a moment to examine it.

When he had been making the doors, Alistair had given him a lecture on magical metals and their properties. The one that Harry had decided to use the most of was something called mythril, which as a bright blue-silver metal, and was quite possibly a basis for the metal of the same name Tolkien used in his books. It was one of the most resilient metals known to magic, but now that he thought about about it, it was really too light to be used in fixed defenses. He focused on the structure of the metal, seeing the alignment of the crystals and strands in it as Alistair had described them, he then mentally twisted them, made them tighter, and began to more tightly pack them together, making the metal that much denser. As he focused back on the over all appearance, the metal was now nearly as reflective as a mirror, but it was a vivid electric blue.

The wood, a lusterless gray colored material, that comprised the massive gates and doors was a magical breed of ironwood, and took centuries to grow to any useable size in the real world. Once more he visualized the structure of the material, this time basing what he 'saw' on what he learned from biology he had learned in school. He focused on wood until he could almost reach out and manipulate the fibers of it with his bare hands. He then tightened the weave of the threads, and packed the layers more tightly together. Now the wood had become as white as freshly fallen snow, and almost seemed to glow.

He waited until there was another hit on his defenses, and then when far less damage was done at the new hit, he willed the changes to spread to the rest of his mindscape.

He then decided that one gate that operated as a simple set of outsized double doors was not enough. Taking a moment to visualize what he wanted in its place, he then demolished the old set of doors he had with a single thought, and created a complex monstrosity in their place. The outermost gate was a drawbridge that, when closed, lay flat against the wall for more than a yard in all directions, was thick enough to protrude into the gatehouse for at least two feet. It locked into the walls themselves by thick metal cylinders in thirteen separate places. The innermost gate was a mirror of the first. The second gate was a pair of outward opening doors, though the hinges were hidden, each of which could bolt into the walls in seven times each, and then into each other a total of seven times. When shut, three massive bars, wood with metal reinforcing bands, would seal it further.

For when they were sealed, a liquid that would cause any force that worked to break the gates down to be applied with a great deal of efficiently upon the next gate in line and upon the walls of the gatehouse. Though that now presented the problem that he was fairly certain he had now made the gates even stronger than the walls were.

He sped things back up to real time. For another three minutes, the pain kept ramming into his defenses, coming back more quickly, and staying longer. He then started to notice that the dome had a few hairline cracks running through it and a few of the blocks of the wall had shifted. He was hit one more time as he slowed his perception of time down, so instead of returning his sense of time to normal, he made three new layers for the dome, making the cracks less of an issue for the moment, and pushed it outwards, bring it clear of the walls by four yards in all directions.

He repaired the wall with a thought, having already increased the thickness of the curtain wall to twenty-one feet to accommodate the new gates. He then broke it down into thirteen separate walls, one built up against the next, each wall forty-nine bricks tall. He then took the obdurite of the blocks and decided to triple its density, packing more of it into each square inch. The flat gray stones turned instantly into a light devouring black. While recreating the wall, he feathered it out in six places, forcing it into appearing how the new gate would appear when disguised as wall, each one equidistant from the others.

In the place of the old, simple hemispherical dome, he started creating a series of geodesic domes. Each comprised solely of triangles, each rotated one seventh of the way to lining up with the next triangle in the pattern. Between each layer he filled the space with energy, energy to both separate the layers, and bind them together, to transfer the energy from one to the next, but also disperse it. He wasn't even entirely sure if something like this would work in the world outside of his mind, but this was his head and he was the boss of it. He created Seven layered domes, and when finished it was no longer mostly transparent like its predecessor. Instead it pulsed and glowed with what could only be called a prismatic energy.

He willed his perception of time back into lock-step with the outside world, and watched as the last remnant of his first defenses were sacrificed, and when the pain fell back upon his new walls, it ground to a screeching halt. It could find no purchase, make no headway. It threw itself upon his mind and could do nothing.

Letting loose a sigh of relief he decided that since he had the time he would spend some time making the building within his walls more like the manor it appeared as. Eventually he tired of creating and filling rooms, and was tired in general, so he back tracked to one of the bedrooms he made and went to sleep.

* * *

**A/N2: Three quick notes.**

**I know that the whole 'leave the Dursleys and receive a shopping trip' is really overdone, but it is also something that has to be done. Harry is eleven years old with very little to his name from his time in Durzkaban, so one of the only ways around it is for his guardians to do it without him, and maybe I'll do that in a different story.**

**The joint will always seemed narmy to me so it got axed for individual wills of undecipherable legalese save in a few points. No interest in doing the needed research, and never had to write a will of my own.**

**Also on wills, I have heard occasional griping out in the internets about wills that specifically exclude Petunia being unrealistic. I remember seeing part of my grandfather's will after he died, and there was specific mention of one of his sons, being deliberately excluded from receiving anything. And that is all I'll say about that.**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters eight through ten of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of quarter past midnight, July 2, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br]. And are actually LESS than FanFiction's word counts.)**

**Chapter 8:**

**Word Count: 2,528 | Character Count: 13,730 | Hits: 54,277 | Reviews: 32**

**Chapter 9:**

**Word Count: 2,707 | Character Count: 14,970 | Hits: 52,141 | Reviews: 39**

**Chapter 10:**

**Word Count: 3,030 | Character Count: 16,507 | Hits: 52,155 | Reviews: 33**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 8,265 | Character Count: 45,207 | Hits: 158,573 | Reviews: 104**

**New Total Word Count: 11,324 | New Total Character Count: 63,228**


	4. The Rough Road to Recovery

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

**A/N: Back again, July went to hell, June was only slightly better, moved in August, and finally got settled in. On a roll, gonna nap and move onto chapter five.**

* * *

Chapter 4: The Rough Road to Recovery

The very first thing Harry was aware of when he woke up was pain. It felt vaguely like that time Dudley had pushed him down the stairs and then trodden on him. Of course, he then had to _really_ wake up, and he felt like he was made from pain that molded rather roughly into a vaguely human shape. After groaning rather loudly for about a minute, Harry felt someone pour something down his throat. Maybe it was poison and would put him out of his misery.

That was a pleasant thought.

Nope, it just made the pain go away. Mostly. He could work with that. He'd worked with less when he had been residing with the Dursleys. He cracked an eyelid open and saw, in order, some random person in Healer's robes, Perenelle, and Alistair. He also found out that light was rather agonizing at the moment and quickly closed the eye. He grumbled incoherently a couple of times for a few minutes, and then decided to crack the other eye open and saw Nicolas and what looked like a room partition in the form of a curtain.

As the pain ebbed further away, he hauled himself into something vaguely resembling a sitting position, though he though he was a little hunched over, and the unknown Healer scurried off, and he said, "Did anyone get the number of that train that ran me over?"

Alistair chuckled and said, "You're the one that agreed with me and said the quick and brutal way was better. By the way, you've been down for almost seventy two hours. And it looks like you are going to be missing a few days at Hogwarts in order to recover."

Harry grunted at that, and then poked his abdomen with his finger. "What have they got to eat in this place?"

Nicolas shook his head with mirth at that, Perenelle rolled her eyes, and Alistair chuckled again. Harry had the vague thought of getting him to trademark those. They could be worth a fortune.

"We'll see what the Healer has to say when she gets here. For now, just try not to push yourself. "

All he did in response was grunt.

Nicolas smirked and said, "Well if you can promise to stay in bed, I think there are a pair of people you'd like to meet."

Blinking and looking at the man like he was crazy, Harry shrugged, and leaned back into the bed.

Standing, and with an overly florid bow, Nicolas grandly said, "Then if I may present, fresh from a ten year long performance at Azkaban, Sirius Black, and accompanying him is his good friend, and a good friend of James Potter, Remus Lupin." And he drew back the curtain to reveal two men, one on another bed, the other sitting in a chair next to it. They were both grinning like fools and they eyes were lit with mirth.

The one on the bed looked like Harry had felt sometimes at the Dursleys, starved and battered; he had long black hair that was only halfway recovered from whatever disaster it had met.

The other man could only be described as looking careworn. His brown hair was flecked with gray, his face was creased with worry, and the clothes he was wearing were rather shabby.

Harry, in no mood for amusement, grunted, and bluntly said, "So which are you amused at, the grandstanding, or the fact you get to meet me?"

The two shared a long look, and said, in unison, "Both!"

Harry smacked himself in the forehead with both palms, though his mouth couldn't help but twitch into a ghost of a grin at this pair of fools, "I thought you were supposed to be in Azkaban. How did they, whoever they are, get you out so quick?"

This time it was Sirius's turn to grunt, "The DMLE, as soon as they got a copy of your parents' will, and references to exactly which laws made Pettigrew a _rat_, well, they fast-tracked his case to trial, declared Peter guilty in absentia, with a life sentence as soon as he is captured and questioned under veritaserum. With that mess brought into the light, the current administration had no choice but to give me a retrial, considering my previous one consisted solely of Bartemius Crouch Sr. passing judgment on me. And my trial consisted of me opting to be questioned under truth potion, and I was declared not guilty. That was either this yesterday morning or late the day before. So when your guardians heard I was being brought into St. Mungo's for observation to see whether or not I was healthy and sane enough to return to polite society, they somehow managed to get me into the second bed in this room."

Remus took this a cue to explain why he was here, "And when Sirius's owl that said he was sharing a room with James's long lost son came, I couldn't help but come for a visit."

Harry looked at each of them, and then said, "Hrmph. Okay then, how did you two know my dad?"

Sirius's eyes lit up with glee, "The three of us had been inseparable since first year in Hogwarts."

Tying a few threads of logic together, Harry couldn't help but ask, "So which of you two and Pettigrew were Moony, Padfoot, and Wormtail?"

Harry had half anticipated the looks of shock he got, but he couldn't understand the awe that was tinged in it.

Remus was the first to regain the capacity for speech, "How do you know those names?"

Harry jerked a thumb at Alistair, and said, "That tatty guy there pointed me in the direction of the current holders of the Marauder's Map, and he also pointed out the phrase that would activate what seemed more or less a 'legacy' mode."

They were once again stuck dumb and could only seem to stare at the hat. Harry decided to try to get them talking again, "Hey, for a pair of legendary pranksters, you seem to be speechless a little too often for my liking. So fess up, who is who?"

Sirius tossed a pillow at Harry, who grabbed it from midair and threw it back at him, hitting him in face. Remus with grunt of a laugh said, "I'm Moony, pillow-face there is Padfoot and..."

Harry finished darkly, "Wormtail is a fitting name for a traitor."

Healer Tonks choose that particular moment to walk in the door, and she came over to Harry's bed and cast half a dozen diagnostic spells before she was satisfied with whatever she was checking, and said, "Okay, we are going to start the process to get you discharged. I've never been particularly fond of holding people in a hospital when the only need rest that can be better gotten at home. With that in mind, when you get home, I don't want you getting out of bed unless necessary until Friday, preferably after lunch on Saturday if you can keep from going stir-crazy. and then I don't want you doing anything more strenuous than walking around the house until you go back to Hogwarts. There will be an additional potion or two you'll have to take for a few days. Barring any complications however, you should be all set to resume classes at Hogwarts on Monday."

Harry bit back a yawn as he said, "Thank you, Healer Tonks," before snuggling back down into his bed and blankets for a nap.

As Andromeda turned to leave the room, Sirius shouted, "Hey Andy, nothing to say to your favorite cousin?"

She whirled on the spot, with a look of surprise on her face, "Siri? I read about your retrial in the paper this morning, but I thought the ministry would be holding onto you for a little while... I'm about to go on my rounds right now, but make sure you write me. With Bella having had an actual trial and proudly confessing, and Cissy's husband being a... Malfoy, I don't have an overabundance of family."

"Sure thing Andy, we'll have to get together for dinner or something soon."

"I'd like that Siri." She then left the room.

* * *

Harry was released from the hospital an hour and a half later, and merely being put in a wheelchair and apparated to Flamels' cottage seemed to take what little energy he had. He was fairly certain he had fallen asleep only to be rather rudely awoken by Nicolas taking him side-along apparation.

He was sat down at the kitchen table and his potions put in front of him. After downing them (as quickly as possible, having yet to find a potion that tasted the least bit palatable), he dozed lightly until the clink of dishes in front of him brought him around.

Looking up from the two sandwiches (sliced meats, cheese, tomato, and lettuce) and soup (looked like the chicken noodle soup from a can Petunia made him make Dudley when the fat lump got sick), a lunch that he thought to be quick but filling (to him), at Perenelle, who told him, "Eat as much as you can, then we'll see about getting you into bed."

He ate slowly, hungry enough to know that if he didn't eat now, it'd wake him up later and then he would be really irritable. After he had all of one of the sandwiches, a good half of the other, and eaten a good two-thirds of the soup, he pushed the food away from him. Nicolas looked up from the paper he was reading, eyed the food for a moment before nodding, saying, "Good enough," and helped Harry to his feet. Of course once Harry was on his feet, Nicolas had to mostly carry Harry to his room. The only thing that saved what dignity Harry did have was that his feet were still on the ground and that no one could really see him.

Nicolas transfigured Harry's clothes in pajamas and tucked him into bed, and he was out like a light before Nicolas had turned the lights out and left the room.

* * *

When Harry woke up, it was a little before noon on the next day. By the time he had cleared the cobwebs of sleep from his head, Perenelle was already entering his room. She stood by the bed with soft smile on her face and asked, "Finally awake?"

More than a little grumpy at being only slightly less tired then when he went to sleep, Harry snarked in reply, "If you want, I could just go right back to sleep."

The smile disappeared into a firm line, and she sternly replied, "Not without eating something first. And most definitely not until you've taken your potions. Now, do you want breakfast or lunch?"

Grimacing at her response, he said, "Breakfast please."

Stretching, Harry cast an eye at the hat hanging from a bed-knob and said, "Good morning Alistair."

"Its a lot closer to noon than it is morning, Harry."

"I just woke up, and that is the standard greeting for people who are not yet completely awake."

"Yes, yes. Harry as far as the bed rest goes, you are going to be taking a break from practicing Occlumency. When you do work in your mind, it exercises your magic, however slight the energy it uses may be. So, it will probably be Sunday, maybe Saturday before we pick it back up."

Yawning , Harry nodded and replied, "Makes sense," before grabbing The Tales of Beedle the Bard from his nightstand and picking up where he left off in the story 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune', though it would not be long before Perenelle came back in with two floating trays following her, breakfast for him and her lunch. There were also a few vials of potions on his tray.

* * *

While the children's version of The Tales of Beedle the Bard was not a particularly dense read, it still took him most of the day to get through it due to the fact that he spent almost as much time sleeping as he did reading. Perenelle and Nicolas came in a few times to check on him, and once to give him a few potions. It was a few minutes after he woke up from the nap that he took following finishing the book that Nicolas came into the room carrying two trays with what smelled like meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, and some vegetable.

Before he dug into his own dinner, Nicolas put three books down on the nightstand closer to the door. Tilting his head to read the titles Harry saw _'The Hogwarts Charter and Its Amendments, Annotated for Ease of Understanding'_, _'The Rules of the Hogwarts Inter-House Quidditch Cup'_, and _'Seeker's Secrets'_.

As they were eating Harry asked, "I understand the two Quidditch books, but what's with the book on the Hogwarts Charter?"

Alistair responded first, "The thing with it is that it is highly recommended reading. Trust both me and Nicolas. There could be a day when that book saves your life in the castle. Since Snape has likely stacked the Slytherin Prefects with Death Eater spawn, you'll need the rules on your side."

With a rather sharkish grin on his face, Nicolas added, "If more students actually read it, Snape probably still wouldn't have been sacked by the time you came to Hogwarts, but with more students lodging complaints, it is entirely like he would have been sacked even with the friends he has on the Board of Governors, when he went from subtle to blatant because of his issues with your father."

Harry finished most of his meal and decided that he would take another nap.

* * *

When Harry woke up Friday, it was at a reasonable hour, and he didn't have the urge to go right back to sleep. Sitting up in his bed, he threw a quick, "Morning Al," to the Sorting Hat, and eyed the books on his nightstand. Both the Charter and the Quidditch rules were very dry reading, from the few pages of each he had managed to drag himself through yesterday. So, did he want to read about Quidditch or fairy tales.

He eventually read a little from both before Nicolas came into the room twenty minutes later.

Leaning against the wall, Nicolas said, "Now, do you feel capable of getting to and from the kitchen for breakfast, or would you feel better eating in bed again?"

While he wanted to just spring up out of bed, Harry took his time while saying, "Anything that makes me feel less like an invalid. Though I'll probably be needing a nap after breakfast..."

* * *

Waking from his nap after breakfast, Harry was feeling refreshed enough that he started digging into the less entertaining reading that he had. He mostly focused on the Quidditch rules, though the charter still getting some attention, and he would go back to the other two books if he started to get really bored. He still took a number of naps, though he was still cranky about needing to take them.

After the post lunch (which was also taken at the table) nap, Harry decided he would take up occupancy in one of the chairs in the library. He spent the rest of the day there, including two or three naps. Before he went to bed that night, he managed to finish the second Beedle book and work most of the way through the book of Quidditch rules.

* * *

Saturday morning, he woke at about quarter of seven, still missing his normal time of waking by over an hour, he was however feeling better than he had since he had gotten back from St. Mungo's, though he still felt like he had been put through the wringer the day before. Following breakfast, Harry decided that he could use some fresh air and took the books he had yet to finish (he had polished off the book of Quidditch rules before breakfast) and one new one ('_The Hobbit_' by J.R.R. Tolkien) outside to read in the sunlight.

After lunch he went back into the chair he liked in the library where he finished '_Seeker's Secrets_' and after having reread a few sections of it, finally started to wrap his head around the Hogwarts Charter. He had also finished the chapter 'Riddles in the Dark' in 'The Hobbit'. He was reading the charter and had finally come across the section concerning those students who are Wards of Hogwarts, when he decided it would be best if he went over it when he was fresh, and decided to turn in for the night, an hour or so earlier than he normally would.

* * *

The next morning, he woke up almost at his normal time, and felt absolutely fine, so he decided to ask Alistair, "Think I've recovered enough to start practicing my Occlumency again?"

Making a thoughtful noise, Alistair replied, "If you feel up to it, I don't think I can object. Let's check the damage that the unbinding did to your defenses."

After putting the Hat on his head, Harry lowered himself into his mindscape, and was shortly followed by Alistair. However said sentient magical artifact was not prepared for the reforged defenses. He was struck speechless as he and Harry picked their way through the new gatehouse and into the mindscape proper. Alistair had only one thing to say, "How the **bloody **_**hell**_, did you manage to improve your defenses this much? I don't think I would rate you as a master at this yet, but these are some of the best brute force protections I've seen in a long time."

"There is a common saying that necessity is the mother of invention, and I politely put forth that its father is duress. The pain had battered my gate down to its last locks in two hits, and after rebuilding the gate, the walls and dome didn't last much longer."

"Harry, I feel bad for anyone that takes a run at your defenses once I finish teaching you if this is what you come up with just starting. Do you have plans for how you are going to implement misdirection?"

"Mostly, I have to redo what I have planned for the outer wall, possibly make false entrances and link them to the dummy memory archives. And now that I think about, I should probably redo everything in the library with the new materials."

"Then you should see about that, and don't forget you have to go through the memories since the last time you did it, which was a week ago yesterday. Do you want company while you do it?"

"No, I'll be fine."

Leaving his mind for a moment to put Al back on his spot on the headboard, he then went back into his mind, and started sorting through his memories, working his way back to the previous Saturday, and he found each memory to be crystal clear and complete, rather than just moderately so. And he could recall them with an ease that confused, and even frightened, him. And when he reached the last place he had gone through his memories he couldn't help but feel there was some more, earlier memories he hadn't gone through.

Deeply disturbed, he leaped out of his mindscape, and turned to Alistair, "I didn't care about what was blocking me apart from wanting it gone, but something is different!"

"Calm down, Harry, and explain."

"I just finished going through my memories from the last week, and they were... clearer and more complete than I was used to. And after I was finished with that, I just had this... feeling that there was more I needed to go over."

"Oh. I must admit that I didn't think to ask what particular blocks were associated with your mind. Do you want me to go in with you?"

"I don't know, I'm not sure I even want to touch whatever those may be..."

He stopped talking for a moment and took a few deep breaths, and a small voice at the back of his mind scoffed, _'There is only pain in the past, leave it be.'_

Another grunted and said, _'Pessimist. If memories from days ago are suddenly that much clearer, what about earlier memories? Memories that might be from before the Dursleys? It is worth the attempt.'_

Taking another shaky breath, Harry said, "I want to, but I don't think I can do it alone, Al."

"Then I'll be right there with you Harry."

Putting the Hat back on his head, Harry went back into his mindscape. Not sure if Alistair could see his memories as he went over them, he quickly made a new room in his library. It was an almost perfect sphere seven meters in diameter, save the floor which cut off the sphere a half a meter from the bottom.

Taking Alistair into the room, the Hat whistled before saying, "Made a Pensieve chamber already? I'll say it again, once I've taught you everything I can, I pity anyone stupid enough to try violating your mind."

Harry blinked for a moment, and said, "I hadn't even thought of it that way, I just wasn't sure if you could observe memories as I go over them."

"Not really, I need your permission, and even then there is a certain loss of fidelity."

Before going over the new earlier memories, they checked a few safer earlier memories, picking half a dozen from school or from Harry just being by himself, but were decidedly fuzzy in recall. They found that the memories were far clearer than they were previously and the content was far more complete.

Moving now onto the new memories, there was actually very little that was new that hadn't already happened in one form or another. The Dursley family was surprisingly consistent in their abuse. The first 'new' memory that hurt was from Harry's sixth birthday. Vernon's 'present' to him had been for Harry to 'take up more of his fair share of his work'. Which included cooking breakfast. Harry was glad that he wasn't going over the memories in the first person anymore. It allowed him to be more distant from the burns that came from his failed attempt to cook at the stove, and the beating that came from Vernon for his failure. And then it became apparent that that was the worst.

Though there were a few curious points were between memories there seemed like something that should be there but weren't. After the third time this had happened Harry said, "Alistair, I keep having this bizarre feeling that there should be memories in some places... Its just really weird."

"That... is not good. Occlumens who reach even a moderate degree of proficiency can begin to tell when they have had their memories altered. Your powerful ability of recall is probably supplementing that. However you are not yet equipped to deal with. I was eventually going to teach you about that and how to restore altered memories. That just confirms that it will eventually make its way on to the lesson plan."

The high point came when the memories started to cover the time from before Halloween memories had started to become more fragmented, but what he did gain from these new fragments filled Harry with such loss that he felt like he was in agony. His mother singing him to sleep. His father telling him stories, one time even taking him on a broom ride a few feet off the ground. Playing with Padfoot, in both his forms. Uncle Moony bouncing him on his knee as he tried to get Harry to say various things after he had started talking. And Aunty Pen playing with his toes and at what seemed to be his first birthday, Uncle Nic giving him a stuffed snitch.

The memories finally petered out shortly after his first birthday, and he was certain that he was in no shape to continue working on the protections on his mind. When Nicolas came into the room to get Harry for breakfast, he found Harry curled up with his back against the headboard of his bed, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, and his forehead was resting against his knees.

Concerned, Nicolas sat on the edge of the bed near Harry, and put hand on the boy's shoulder. He became even more worried when on closer inspection that there were tear tracks along Harry's face. Before he could ask however, Alistair spoke, "Whatever blocks or seals were on his mind, degraded his conscious ability to both record and recall his memories. It however did not stop the process on a subconscious level. His memories are crystal clear starting at about two and a half years old. I've come across a few mentions of memory as a magical talent. I think that he has a naturally eidetic memory that is enhanced by a magical talent that boosts it."

And then Harry added in, with a broken voice, "And I can remember up until shortly before my first birthday."

And with that said Nicolas watched as Harry waged a war with his emotions to get them back under his command. He shook like a leaf in the wind, gasped as if in pain. It was vicious, brutal, and short. The only evidence that he had come a hair's breadth from a mental breakdown was flushed skin and tear tracks down his face.

"Go get washed up for breakfast." Nicolas then left to tell this turn of events to Perenelle.

Harry followed to breakfast four minutes later.

The two adults just watched as Harry took his potion and dug into the meal.

Perenelle was the first to speak, "Harry are you sure..."

"That what I remember is real? You, Aunty Pen, really liked playing with my toes for some reason, and Uncle Nic gave me a stuffed snitch for my first birthday. So, did it happen?"

Both of them could only nod mutely, and Harry started to shake and cry as he thought about the fact that he could now remember what his parents looked like, what they sounded like. The fact that they... He killed that thought before it could hurt him. And while he was fighting a war with himself, Pen had gotten up and drawn him into a hug.

Harry sobbed once, before clawing at his emotions internally to regain control. He didn't think about how it felt to have someone hugging him who cared, and he brutally slaughtered the growing thought of how it had felt like when his mother had held him.

He weakly said, and tried to make himself believe, "I'm okay. I'm fine."

Perenelle tousled his hair, smiled at him, and went back to her seat.

Deciding to forge on ahead, Nicolas said, "If you feel up to it, Sirius and Remus have offered to take us to lunch in London outside of Diagon Alley. We need to stop by Ollivander's and see if your wand is still attuned to you. With the number of blocks you had, the Healers thought that it was entirely possible that it was a false match, or even a forced match."

Bringing his face up, he said something he had shared with no one, "My wand shares a core with Voldemort's."

"So if you do indeed need a different wand, than Dumbledore was probably playing one of his games and forced it."

"I need to get out of the house, even if it is for a little while. Starting to feel a little stir-crazy."

"Well head out at eleven then. Don't forget to bring your potion."

* * *

When they walked into a common chain restaurant, and he saw Sirius and Remus, before he even knew what he was thinking, or even doing, he had launched himself into Sirius, and hugged the man for dear life, all while half-sobbing the word 'Padfoot'.

After Harry, having felt like he embarrassed himself, got his emotions back under control, he, Nicolas, and Perenelle told the last two Marauders what had happened with Harry's memory. When they tried to question whether or not it was possible, Harry, still edgy and upset, shut them up by saying, "I know you can turn into a big black dog of very indeterminate breed, Padfoot."

After a decent lunch, in which Harry avoided losing further control of himself, Remus and Sirius stepped away and had a short conversation. When they came back, Remus asked, "Do you three mind if we come with you?"

* * *

Walking into the shop, the rather creepy old wandmaker said, "Ah, Mr. Potter, I hadn't expected you back for a long while yet, is there a problem with your wand?"

"I apparently had a number of... blocks, on my magic, and the Healers..."

"Recommended you see if your wand was still compatible. Of course, it is quite easy to check. Just hold out your wand."

Harry held out his wand, and the wandmaker cast some sort of wandless spell. Something like a heat mirage moved through the air, though Harry felt the magic more than he saw that. Ollivander scowled and cast the spell again. "Apparently the Healers were entirely too correct. I am not even getting a mild reaction between you and the wand. I guess we'll have to start from the beginning. You're still right handed?"

And then what followed was a repeat of Harry's first visit to the shop, except it took even longer, though the wandmaker seemed to get more and more excited, until finally Ollivander disappeared into the back of the shop and came out reverently bearing a small chest.

"Inside this, Mr. Potter, are my masterpieces. The wands in here are unlike any others I have created, and each is unique amongst its peers. Here, here, black fir and white ash, ten inches, with the crest feather from a gryphon. Rigid. An excellent wand for combat. Give it a wave. No, nope. Here, redwood with thestral and pegasus tail hairs, eleven and a half inches, perfect for illusion work. Quite supple as well."

They went through the rest of the wands in the box, one by one, each made up of either rare or esoteric combinations until the last one.

"And this Mr. Potter, is the finest of them all. In the a few of the largest forests of the Continent there is a rare species of magical tree, its bark shaped like tongues of flame, its leaves like feathers, its sap is some of the most combustible material known to magic, but the tree itself is fireproof. They call it dragonwood, and are not its alternating grains of black and red beautiful? And this is the only sample I've ever gotten that would make a wand. Its core is made up of three entwined dragon heartstrings. One was from a particularly nasty Hungarian Horntail, it had to be been put down for the damage it constantly caused. Another came from a Ukrainian Ironbelly, a particularly massive one at that. It died during a mating season. The last... the last. During an archeological dig, a group of curse breakers found a perfectly preserved corpse of a Roman Black. The muggles blame Nero for burning Rome when it really was one of these fellows. In fact if the dating they did of this specimen is correct it is remote possibility that he was responsible. They are extinct now. That item is what marked the creation of this wand... I wanted to see what I could make by pushing myself. Thirteen inches, exactly. No strengths, no weakness, outside of being more powerful, by far, than any other wand I have made. Give it a wave."

Picking up the wand, Harry felt warmth and energy rush down his arm and into his chest. He had been starting to feel a little spent from being out and about, but now he felt better, if only slightly. The only visible sign that the wand reacted was a pulse of emerald green, bright gold, and fiery red energy around his hand.

"The one thing I truly worried about Mr. Potter, is that I would never find the person this wand belonged to. Thank you." With that said, the old man, having probably inspected Harry's first wand and finding something wanting, handed Harry a small book entitled _'Wand Care', _a box that had 'wand care supplies' written on it, and a forearm holster. "Take good care of it Mr. Potter. And it will take good care of you."

As the group was just about to walk out of the store, and it would only be later when he was going through the day's events that Harry would note that Ollivander didn't ask for payment, another pair of people walked in. One was an old woman who had a vulture on top of her hat, and the other Harry recognized quite easily.

"Hiya, Neville."

"Hello, Harry. You look like something that cat's been at. Gran, I'd like to introduce you to Harry Potter. Harry, I'd like to introduce to my Grandmother, Augusta Longbottom."

"It's a pleasure to meet you ma'am."

The old woman smiled and shook Harry's hand, and said, "So you're the one who has managed to put some backbone in my grandson, if only by association. The Longbottoms and Potters have been friends and allies for over ten generations, and it is so nice to see it continue."

"Thank you, ma'am, I need to get going, I've only been out of bed for a day and a half and would like to get home to rest a little before going back to Hogwarts."

"Of course, of course. Have a pleasant day."

"You too, ma'am."

Exiting the shop, Sirius promised, "I'm going to write, Harry. You're my godson, and I've missed so much. I'm going to do better," before wrapping Harry in a bear hug. After this Remus simply bid them, "Farewell," while grinning like he knew the punch line to one of the best jokes in the world, and they went their separate ways, with Harry and the Flamels heading home. He went to his bed, and laid down for a nap.

* * *

Awakening and feeling refreshed, Harry decided to get what packing he had to do done. He put the two Beedle the Bard books back in the library where he found them, placed the two Quidditch books and the Charter book in one compartment of his trunk, his potions, save for one dose, in another, and packed his clothes in the third.

Harry then sat down on his bed, and went to work revamping the rest of his defenses, bringing the materials up to date, especially the vault with the memory of his second Halloween. By the time he had made any noticeable headway, he was starting to tire a bit, so he stopped and headed back out, just as Nic was poking his head in. Seeing Harry's open eyes he said, "Let's get you fed, and then we'll see you back to Hogwarts, you've been away for too long."

Nodding, he hauled himself up, feeling particularly hungry.

* * *

As they walked up toward the castle, Harry felt in one pocket for his shrunken trunk, which he had been told would return to normal size with a tap of his wand, and in another, the letter he had yet to read from his mother. As he parted from Nicolas and Perenelle, getting a hug from each, he wondered what was written in the letter, and why his father hadn't written one.

Making his way to the Tower, he didn't even pay attention to his surrounds, somehow finding his way with unconscious ease. Climbing through the portrait hole, he heard all sound stop, it was still fairly early on a Sunday, and as he had been out like a light last Sunday in St. Mungo's, he really had had no idea what to expect. Somebody shouted, "Where've you been Potter?" to which his simple reply was, "Ill." He then made his way to the dorm, and put his shrunken chest and letter on his bedside table and lie-down. It had been a long walk.

Neville bounded into the room, with a goofy grin on his face, and greeted Harry, "Still looking a bit under the weather Harry, you going to go to bed for the night, or just have a bit of a lay down?"

"Probably just a bit of a nap."

"Okay, Hermione and I have the notes and assignments for last week's classes, so I'll see if I can find her and get those from her."

"Thanks, did you two volunteer or...?"

"Volunteered when McGonagall asked for someone."

"Thanks."

"No problem, Harry."

With that, Neville went down into the common room to look for Hermione and Harry stretched out after getting his boots off, and nodded off.

* * *

Harry groaned slightly, and hauled himself off of his bed. He felt a bit better, but he could tell he would be going to bed early tonight. Pulling his boots back on and shrugging his way back into a school robe, he made his way down to the common room.

He found Neville and Hermione ensconced in a pair of chairs near one of the windows. Plopping himself down on the ground near them, he sat cross-legged. He then said, "Neville said you two took notes for me and kept track of the assignments I'd have to do?"

Hermione handed him a sheaf of parchments, and asked in a horrified voice, "So what happened that made you miss school for a week?"

Harry didn't even say anything to this, but simply quirked an eyebrow.

Hermione got the hint, and spoke in a subdued voice, "It has to do with September the First and you'll tell us when you feel like it, and not a moment sooner?"

Harry decided to try and put a curb on this incessant curiosity of hers and said, while leafing through the notes he just got, "Yup. Everyone has a right to privacy Hermione. How would you feel if I asked you how many times you went to the loo today, or if you have any birthmarks in embarrassing places?"

She turned bright red, and simply stated, "I wouldn't like it."

"The things I am keeping quiet about aren't embarrassing in the sense that those questions are. But... they... hurt. It hurts in a way I am not used to..." He trailed off at this point, leaving the unsaid, but well understood message to his two companions, that he is used to hurting, and is quite capable of dealing with it.

They settled into silence for a short while, Neville and Hermione working on homework, and Harry reading the notes. Seeing how quickly he was going through the notes, Hermione decided on a change of subject, "Are you even reading the notes, Harry?"

"Huh? Yeah... of course I am. What makes you think that I'm not?"

Neville decided that he would field that question, "Because you are going through each classes' notes about every three minutes, and Hermione takes detailed notes, in tiny writing."

Harry grimaced at this, "Trust me, it will all make sense at one point. Just not now." He leafed through the last few pages of notes, and then looked at the list of work he would have to do. He then started going through the notes again, just to be safe.

They finished up what they were working on just as he set the list of notes aside. They watched as he leaned his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes. Hermione whispered, "Do you think we should just tell him to go to bed?"

Neville shook his head, "No, I don't think he is trying to sleep. If I remember my lessons right, I think he is meditating, which could actually explain quite a bit."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow and put a questioning look on her face.

"Most pureblood families teach their children at one point in time the Mind Art of Occlumency. It protects the mind from invasion, while increasing one's ability to recall information. But before you ask, no, I can't teach it to you, I am absolutely pants at it."

"But that doesn't seem fair..."

"Hermione, from what I was taught, anything beyond the most basic uses of Occlumency is not only extremely difficult to learn, it is difficult to teach. If he gets as much use out of it as I am starting to think he does, it is an exceptionally rare talent that takes time and effort to develop. And before you ask him, he probably isn't in any sort of state where he can try and teach it to you. I would suggest you check out any books on the subject in the library. And don't bug him about it."

Hermione harrumphed at that, and asked, "Why does he have to be such a mystery? I don't think he is even trying to be, it just comes naturally to him. Mysteries bug me, I can't see one without trying to solve it."

Neville finished packing his things away, ignoring her question save for giving a gentle roll of his eyes, got himself up, and went to see if Dean and Seamus wanted to play a game of exploding snap. Hermione pulled out a book titled _'A Record of the Events of Hogwarts, 52nd revision'_ and started to read. She occasionally stole a glance at Harry, and the only movement she saw from him was a flicker of his eyelids and the eyes beneath it.

Five minutes later, Harry opened his eyes, hauled himself off the floor, and went up to the dorm to go do the work he has to get done. Hopefully he could manage to get it done before each class it is due in came around, but first he had to pack his new trunk.

* * *

Over the next week, Harry managed to get caught up with relative ease, though they finally did get a Professor for DADA on Monday. He introduced himself as Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, and stated that he was on loan to the school for the year from the DMLE due to facts he was not allowed to talk about. He had managed to rope one of the seventh year Hufflepuffs into being his teaching assistant. Though at first it sounded like he called her a target dummy. This poor soul's name was Nymphadora Tonks, and she stunned anyone and everyone who tried to call her by her first name, and anyone who laughed at her pink hair. Harry decided not to give her any excuses to make him practice his well-honed dodging skills.

History of Magic also stopped being a near mandatory nap time. It was announced at breakfast Tuesday, and the cheering in the Great Hall was mixed, and in a way it was unsettling. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin remained silent. Both houses apparently enjoyed their naps far too much. The Ravenclaws rejoiced as a whole, and the Badgers were divided. The new teacher remained unintroduced.

However Harry arrived early for the class, a few minutes before the previous class let out. He closed his eyes and rested for a few minutes. He really wished that the class was still naptime. He was absolutely knackered. He opened his eyes as the other class cleared out. He waited another minute, and went in, and was surprised by the familiar face that greeted him.

"Uncle Moony?"

The worn looking man corrected, "That's Professor Lupin while in class Mr. Potter..." However the grin that split his face how showed that it wasn't class time, yet. "You're looking beat, cub. Still haven't finished recovering from what happened last week?"

Harry covered his mouth as a yawn caused his jaw to creak, and replied, "No, I still get tired too easily. Please tell me that you aren't going to do anything drastic this class?"

"No, no, we'll just be having a discussion on who actually remembers what Binns was droning on about for the past two weeks. So it shouldn't be too hard for you to stay awake."

Harry took a seat in the first row of chairs, and idly leafed through his history text, waiting for the class to start.

The next day everyone generally agreed that Professor Lupin was a far superior teacher than Binns, however much some of them missed their naps.

* * *

He was however a little anxious when a flier for tryouts for the only open positions, seeker and one chaser position, on the house team went up for Friday after dinner. He still spent a lot of time resting. He continued to tire fairly easily, and it was beginning to irritate him. Throughout the week, Harry read the book on wand care he was given. The very first sentence in the book was, 'Do not keep your wand in a back pocket unless you desire to lose a buttock.' Harry had yet to actually use the forearm holster he had, because quite frankly it didn't look big enough.

The he remembered that both his backpack and his trunk were larger on the inside than the outside, and he hit himself on the forehead for this lapse in attention.

He got progressively more nervous as the tryouts approached, though neither Neville nor Hermione knew that he was going to try out. Harry had already cornered the fifth year who was Captain, one Oliver Wood, who merely nodded with a feral grin when Harry pointed out that there were no actual rules against first years trying out for and playing on House Quidditch teams. It was only against bringing their own brooms.

He did however inform Fred and George what he was doing, and when he managed to scrape together the time, they helped Harry practice his flying, acting as a pair of human Bludgers.

Then the day of the tryouts came. Harry went down to the pitch right after finishing dinner, and went to the school broomshed. He spent the next hour working his way through each broom, trying to find the least damaged of the lot, eventually settling on one of the Cleansweeps. Checking his watch, he shouldered the broom and made his way out of the shed, only to be intercepted by Madam Hooch. Taking the broom from Harry and checking it over, she gave him a nod, and handed it back.

The practice was brutal for Harry. He flew against older students on better brooms. But no matter what, he managed to outfly them all. When Wood called an end to the tryouts, Harry landed on the ground, and then dropped to his hands and knees. The Weasley twins were there a few moments later, picking him up off the ground. Oliver was slightly concerned that the best Seeker of the tryouts collapsed right after, until whichever twin that was supporting Harry on the left said, "Ollie, he was the best out there, hands down, riding on a piece of shite school broom. While he was still recovering from a three day stay in St. Mungo's!"

And Wood's eyes lit up at the fact that Harry _wasn't_ in top condition when trying out, and he still made the rest of the Seekers look like fools. In fact, he even started to drool a little. Ignoring their obviously insane captain, the twin said, "Come on my good twin, let's go pour Harrykins here into bed."

* * *

Harry came to about an hour while later, and muttered something about damn Dumbledore. He wondered slightly who had dumped him into bed before the image of the twins each taking one of his arms over their shoulders appeared in his mind. He quickly thumbed through the list of assignments in his mind, and found that anything he had to do, needed to be done towards the end of next week, so that left Harry with nothing to do, and the fact that it was... he checked his watch... eight at night, didn't help much.

He still felt like he had been beaten with a very large, fairly filthy stick. So he grabbed some of his more leisurely clothes and went to get clean.

Afterwards, he pulled on a school robe, and trudged down to the common room, and went over to where Neville, Dean, and Seamus were playing a game of exploding snap. Harry had joined them for a few games in the first week, and one when he had the time in the past week. So he sat down and waited for this particular game to play out, so he could be dealt in.

* * *

Harry slept deeply that night, but not for long. As he sat in bed, trying to figure out what he was going to do until he felt like falling asleep again, he could not think of much, besides the fact was that he had stomached as much of the Charter as he could stand for a day and had also had his fill of textbooks. He had also finished the Hobbit earlier in the week, and was mentally chastising himself for not bringing more leisure reading. He was debating whether or not he should write Uncle Nic and Aunty Pen about asking if they could send him some books for relaxation, when his eyes fell upon his nightstand, and his mind when to the letter from his mother he kept there, the letter he hadn't read yet. The letter he didn't know if he could read.

Leaving Alistair on the headboard, Harry checked his watch from where it sat on the nightstand. One thirty in the morning. No sane person would be down in the common room at this hour. He hauled himself out of bed, opened the drawer, and grabbed the letter. Stuffing his slippers onto his feet, Harry silently padded his way down to the common room.

Taking a chair near the banked fire, Harry leaned far back into it. He stared off into the embers turning the envelope over and over in his hands. He felt that he couldn't do this alone, but he didn't know anyone, Alistair included, that he wanted around to see the breakdown that would come with the reading of this.

And he could feel the breakdown coming. His world had taken hammerblows, his entire life was manipulated by an old man, who destroyed his chance at having a childhood, who had shackled what he was, who had robbed him of memories of his parents...

He stared down at the envelope. But then when his defenses were undergoing a breakdown, they were rebuilt stronger. Maybe what his mother wrote would break him... but what if it made him stronger after? Could he stand not knowing? And she left two letters, to be given at specific ages. What if... god forbid... what if there was information about Voldemort in them? Harry doubted he would survive to see his twentieth birthday if he ignored any source of information about that thing that used to be a man.

He didn't know what kind of life his parents had wanted for him, but now, now he knew... he knew... He was fighting with himself to get the thought into his mind, when an owl ghosted through the window and landed on his knee. His snowy owl and first friend, Hedwig. He thought it rather strange that the most fulfilling conversations from his life at the Dursleys' had taken place in his last month there, and the other side had been an owl instead of the voices in his head. He didn't know how, but he had always seemed to understand what she meant, and when he talked to her, the voices seemed to quiet just a little.

With her company, and comfort, he finished the thought. He now knew, without a doubt that his parents had loved him. But he needed to know what his mother wanted to tell him. He turned the letter over and read the elegantly written _'Harry'_ on the front of it. He traced the letters with a finger, before opening the envelope and taking the letter out.

* * *

_My dearest son,_

_If you are reading this, your father and I have died before the war with Voldemort ended. For all I know the war could still be continuing while you are reading this. What I do know is that you should be getting this on, or shortly after, your eleventh birthday. There is so much I wish I could tell you, but all of it boils down to two simple facts. Your father and I love you, and all we want for you in life is to see that you are happy. Though I wish at least one of us would be there to tell you this, that madman is after our family, and everything we do to protect ourselves may not be enough._

_That being said, if you are reading this, you are the last of the Potters. You father has prepared for this, and in the family vault is a journal that will tell you all you need to know. It will either directly tell you, or point you toward where the information you need is. It will tell you all you need to know about Heading the family._

_But there is a reason why Voldemort is after us. That he is after you. Shortly before you were born a prophecy was made. Now your father and I are not the type to believe in that sort of trash, but sadly both Voldemort and Dumbledore are. Now I won't be telling you what the prophecy says, at least not yet, because no matter how much I want you to survive, if you destroy what chance you have for happiness when you are this age, I fear you may only become useful for one thing, fighting back the darkest evil, and that is not the type of life we want for you._

_What I will tell you is that it refers to either you or one other. Your father and I have been friends with the other boy's parents since Hogwarts. It is so nice to watch you two play together. If our wishes for guardianship have been followed, he'll probably have either been your best friend growing up, or something very much akin to a brother. Yes, it's Neville Longbottom._

_You will need friends in your life, Harry, so don't close yourself off from the world. But whatever you do, do not trust Dumbledore. He has only seen people as pieces on a chessboard for far too long. He will use you. Remember, your father and I love you. And whatever it takes for you to survive what comes, make sure that you can live with what you become afterwards, and that you can be happy with what you become._

_Love,_

_Your Mum_

* * *

Harry finished reading the letter and started shaking with silent sobs. His life had been destroyed because two men believed in one person's ravings about what may possibly come to pass.

It was not fair.

Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't... no, he wouldn't say that. He was incapable of wishing his life upon his worst enemy, so he would not ask why someone else. But it hurt to know that the only contact he would ever have with his parents would be through words on paper and half lost memory.

He sat there crying, for how long he was never sure of. Hedwig shifted on his knee, and but then she made a sound he never heard her make before. The closest he could thing he could equate it to was song. The song seemed to surge through him, and filled him with warmth, hope, and calm.

When he looked up, she had changed. In the place of the owl that had been there was a slightly larger bird, but looked far different. Her feathers were still white, but with blue plumage.

Just as Harry's mind was registering the change in his friend two things happened at the same time.

A voice, a distinctly feminine voice, sounded from in his mind, though he could tell it did not originate there, and said, *It is nice to finally be able to drop the act and speak to you, Harry.*

And from the direction of the stairs leading to the boys' dorms, someone said, "Bloody hell. What's a phoenix doing in here?"

Leaning forward enough in the chair to see just who had come down into the common room, Harry saw none other than Neville. "Good... ungodly hour of the night... slash morning, Neville."

Neville just stood there making various grunting noises while he tried to get his mouth to say something.

"Trevor got your tongue, Neville?"

He made a choking sound at this comment and blinked a good half a dozen times.

"I am just going to keep saying more and more insane things until you regain the use of words Neville, so hurry up!"

His face blanked at this, and he started laughing. Shaking his head, he launched himself into a chair near Harry. Knowing Harry well enough to only ask more or less innocent questions, "So why are you sitting down in the common room at this sort of ungodly hour, with a phoenix on your knee?"

"Is that what you are? Is that what she is?"

Hedwig cocked her head to the side in wry amusement, fluttered up to the back of the chair, and cuffed Harry upside the head with one of her wings. Neville snorted in amusement and said, "I'd take that as a yes from her, and that is what I think she is. But you didn't answer my question."

"True. It is actually kinda obvious. I couldn't sleep."

"Obviously. So since you couldn't sleep, you decided to come down here. It is probably common enough. But where did the phoenix come in?"

"I was mulling over whether or not I was going to read a letter from my mother that had been held at Gringotts, and then as if knowing I needed the moral support, Hedwig came in through the window." He jerked his thumb at the open window.

"Okay, but where does the phoenix come in, and where did Hedwig go?"

He jerked the thumb at the phoenix perched on the back of the chair, "Right here."

"Wait, I thought Hedwig was an owl."

"So did I!"

Hedwig cuffed him upside the head again. Harry gave her a dirty look, and she just trilled a note of amusement.

Neville blinked in amusement and confusion for a few seconds, and then said, "Do you think she might be an actual familiar?"

Harry said, at the same time Hedwig spoke to Harry, "A what?" *Of course I am.* Which resulted in him turning to look at her.

"You don't know what a familiar is Harry? Everyone raised in our world knows what a familiar is."

Harry took a breath and looked out the window, his face than contorted in pain and he said, "Neville, what I tell you can go no further than the three of us. I think talking about... what I want to talk about may help, but I need your word you won't tell a soul."

"Potters and Longbottoms have been keeping each other's secrets for ten generations, we should both know this as the heirs of our houses. Of course I'll keep your secrets Harry."

"Except I don't know that. I was raised by my Aunt and Uncle, my mundane Aunt and Uncle... who hated magic... and it was not a good childhood." Harry then launched into a retelling of the past three weeks, about everything except the letter. It was a good forty-five minutes later when he stopped. Neville had sat there looking shocked in some places, angry in others, and happy for his friend when appropriate.

"That explains a lot Harry. Except for Hedwig the phoenix."

*Oh that, Albus did everything in his power to block or limit your familiar bonds, Harry."

Harry's head whipped around to Hedwig and he said, "That miserable old man!" He looked back at Neville for all of half a second before his head was pulled back toward Hedwig, "Did you say bonds, as in **plural**?" She just nodded.

"I am assuming Dumbledore mucked with your familiar bonds?" Harry nodded. "What was that old coot thinking? Even the most common books on familiar lore include sections on the repercussions of blocked bonds."

"Why did you read books on familiar lore, Nev?"

"Because I hoped for all my childhood that I would have one, but given the fact that most of my family thought that I was a squib for the longest time, they really didn't go out of the way to teach me much magic, so I had lots of free time to pursue what I found interesting. So I assume you want to get a crash course in familiars?"

All Harry did was nod.

"Okay, the difference between actual familiars and the pets that most witches and wizards call familiars is that in the case of the former, they are always magical creatures of some kind. The pets are mostly magically fortified rats, toads, and owls, and most part-kneazles, none of which can be actual familiars. Pure-bred kneazles yes, but part-breeds for the most part are a no, some might have the power but the majority don't. The bond between the witch or wizard and the familiar is symbiotic in nature. In blocked bonds, the witch or wizard often starts to hear voices. The reason why this happens is still debated, but the current consensus is that magic increases mental activity to a certain degree, and needs an outlet. This has some bit of proof in that actual familiars tend to only appear with very powerful wizards, generally those that pop up once every fifty or so years. The rarer cases of multiple familiars tend to belong to stupidly powerful wizards that only appear every couple hundred years... And now that I think about it, those voices you mentioned were probably a result of Dumbledore's meddling. Congratulations, you are slightly less insane than you thought you were!"

Sarcasm also dripped from Harry's voice as he said, "Thanks Nev."

"Not a problem, does Hedwig know how many familiar bonds could form off of you?"

Harry turned to the phoenix and cocked an eyebrow before scowling.

"She said, and I quote, 'that would be telling'!"

Neville fell off of his chair in a fit of laughter.

Harry smiled at his... friend, his second friend. That lit a warm little fire in his chest, and he didn't move to shut down the feeling. But he put a serious face back on, and when Neville saw it, he stopped laughing and got back up into the chair, and he then asked, "There's something more you want to tell me?"

Harry nodded, "In my mum's letter, she mentions the reason my family was attacked... sometime before my birth, a prophecy was made..."

Neville interrupted, "But the most common schools of thought on those say they only have magical power if they are given it."

"Exactly. She said only two people believed in it, but with those two being Dumbledore and Voldemort..."

Nev winced, "More than enough power."

Harry nodded again, and pressed on, "She said there was another that the prophecy could have meant, that it could have also meant the son of her best friend..."

"My mum. I remember my Gran talking Sunday when she was bringing me back to Hogwarts that your mum was my godmother, and my mum was yours."

Harry nodded at this, and continued on, "I can only think of one reason that both of them would get tunnel vision on this prophecy. It has to relate somehow with the permanent defeat of Voldemort."

The two sat in silence for almost ten minutes.

Harry broke it, "So if it is going to have to be one of us..."

Neville grimly smiled, "It might as well be both of us."

"My mum had one bit of advice for me. She more or less said that I shouldn't stop living my life because of this. And I think neither of us should. And, since I highly doubt Dumbledore is one to put all of his eggs in one basket, you should at least talk to your Gran about the prophecy, tell her about the old man's meddling in my life..."

"And get myself checked for blocks?"

"Yes. But you need to do it face to face. Being a Ward of Hogwarts offers me a rather insane amount of protection from the Headmaster, almost likely it was created to protect students from Heads playing god. I think we both need to talk to Alistair, and soon."

"Sure."

They both got up, and Hedwig hopped onto Harry's shoulder. "Hey, Nev, you want to prank Malfoy and the Slytherin Weasley at some point soon? They've tried one time too many to sabotage my potions. "

"Sure, I've got nothing better to do tomorrow..."

The two made their way to their rest.

* * *

**A/N2: The Hallows will not appear in this story, though there may be other mentions of them because the Deathly Hallows are lore that exist in the world. At mention of lore, 'Seeker's Secrets' is something I came up with at thinking of another book mentioned in canon, 'Beater's Bible'. So taking that, there are two more books, 'Chaser's Concepts' and 'Keeper's Knowledge'. The former is likely to make at least one appearance.**

**Also I think it bears mention that I am a fan of the written canon, while I have on later readings disliked the last two books, they are still the printed canon, and I'll stick to it when I use it in my own derivative works. But Rowling just has far too much hand-waving Word of God that quite often has little to no basis on the printed facts, no matter how many holes those written facts may sometimes have.**

**All seven books are in a bookshelf not a yard to my left. When my memory fails be I reach to them, I do not go trawling the internet for the author's Word of God.**

**In addition to my prior dislike of the aforementioned Word of God, the internet is known to lie.**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 11 through 13 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 1 PM, October 1st, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 11:**

**Word Count: 4,302 | Character Count: 23,173 | Hits: 55,871 | Reviews: 41**

**Chapter 12:**

**Word Count: 3,168 | Character Count: 16,908 | Hits: 53,074 | Reviews: 44**

**Chapter 13:**

**Word Count: 1,412 | Character Count: 7,642 | Hits: 51,392 | Reviews: 46**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 8,882 | Character Count: 47,723 | Hits: 160,337 | Reviews: 131**

**New Total Word Count: 10,934 | New Total Character Count: 58,825**


	5. Time Flows Onward

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

**A/N: Chapter is outsize. To be otherwise would be cross merging books or wimpy rewrite chapter size. Enjoy.**

* * *

Chapter 5: Time Flows Onward

The next day, Harry and Neville did indeed have a chat with Alistair.

"That sheds a lot of light on a number of Albus's actions. While it seems the man has never met a practitioner of Divination that he has agreed with, the few times he has talked to me about the subject he has shown a certain obsession with prophecy. I'll pen a letter to your grandmother, Neville, suggesting you get a thorough check up. However since you do not lack a guardian, you cannot become a Ward of Hogwarts, though if there are other ways to limit the Headmaster's power over you. The relevant sections of the Hogwarts Charter are..."

They also planned a bit of payback directed at Malfoy and Ronald, who worked against each other (potions sabotage and childish, ineffectual power plays) as much as they, individually, worked against Gryffindor (more potions sabotage and some petty bullying for flavor).

So instead of doing anything thing that would point to action taken from outside the House of Snakes, they used a number of carefully placed jinxes and hexes (a tripping hex shot over Ron's shoulder at a Draco whose back was turned actually caused a fist fight between the two), most of which Harry had learned from the Twins, to turn the pair of Slytherins, along with the rest of the house's first years, against themselves. All it really took was a trio of trip jinxes, a pair of boil hexes, and a particularly nasty slug-belching hex. Malfoy lost his bodyguard bookends to Theodore Nott a week and a half after Neville and Harry started their campaign. Though it would eventually prove to be temporary, and Draco would regain his bodyguards a fortnight after the Slytherins had calmed down.

Shortly before the end of September, the godbrothers decided to see if they could completely alienate Draco and Ronald from the rest of their year. Some itching powder, The house then devolved into a state of prank warfare. It lasted for weeks, costing the Snakes whatever points that Professor Snape managed to sneak past his oaths. It was the middle of October, about a week before the first Quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, before it ended. The new Head of Slytherin, Aurora Sinistra, finally stepped in, and handed out a week of detention to each and every first year Snake.

The twins, in awe of Neville's work with Harry, started working alongside him whenever they pulled Harry into a prank.

* * *

At one point early into planning their revenge against their annoyances when Harry and Neville were in a disused classroom practicing their charms work, Harry asked, "So what wand chose you Nev?"

Grinning The-Boy-With-A-Greenthumb flourished his wand, saying,"Ten inches long, black fir and white ash spiraled together. Rigid and containing one crest feather from a gryphon. Exceeds at combat spells. Yours?"

The-Boy-Who-Lived spun his wand from his palm, over the back of his, and brought it back to his palm, blurring the thirteen deep black and equally numbered vivid red vertical bands and said, "No specialties, no deficiencies, but still powerful than any other wand Ollivander said he has made. Dragonwood with a core of three heartstrings from three different breeds of dragon. Thirteen inches."

Neville blinked at the mention of the wand's wood and said, "That's a really rare type of tree. House Longbottom's botanical ventures have been trying to get viable saplings for decades."

* * *

A great many people in the castle wondered why a white phoenix had taken to following Harry around, often riding on his shoulder. When Harry and Neville both acted like nothing was out of the ordinary, and pointedly ignored questions, everyone at least shut up about it. To their faces.

Separately, this event had had both of them come to the conclusion if they actually tried to keep track of madness that the Hogwarts rumor mill kept throwing out would lead to nothing good. Sanity, in Neville's case, and peace of mind, in Harry's, required nothing less.

Hermione lasted three days before letting out a pained and plaintive, "Why?", as she stared at Hedwig

Harry stifled a chuckle as he said, "Because she's my friend."

This just caused Hermione to take on a puzzled expression as she crinkled her nose in thought. She blinked a few times before sighing and saying, "Okay."

Snape however tried to give Harry a detention and dock points one time when Hedwig decided to accompany him to potions class. Harry took it to McGonagall, and with Neville and Hermione present as witnesses to Snape's actions, recited the relevant parts of the Hogwarts Charter that explained exactly why his bonded familiar was allowed to accompany him anywhere he went in the castle.

* * *

While they had the Slytherin prank war for their viewing entertainment, Harry and Neville, started to give the Ravenclaw first years, their bane (Hermione), and the five others from Slytherin and Hufflepuff, some competition for the two of the top ten spots for their year. Harry was easily the top student in the year whenever it came to practicals in the wanded subjects, and was closing quickly on those who were ahead of him in the theoretical side of their studies.

As he was catching up to Hermione, it became clear that she would not allow her top spot to be taken easily, and cut back on her esoteric and relaxation reading for more studying. Her grumbling was relatively good natured, so hopefully if Harry somehow managed to topple her from the top spot, she wouldn't be too sore a loser.

Neville, with the two of them to help him, wasn't a definitive third, but he was indeed somewhere in the top fifteen, closing in on the top ten. His spellwork had improved dramatically after having gotten a wand that was actually attuned to him, and with sitting directly next to one of the top students of his year, and near the other in each and every single class, meant that whatever issues he had with theory were quickly tied up and thrown onto the proverbial trash heap.

Unlike Hermione, who was content to hunt down her own supplemental reading, Harry had gone to each of his teachers, asking if they had any books they would recommend for additional study. Harry eventually had to ask Uncle Nic and Aunt Pen by mail for books they would suggest for potions. Alistair added a few suggestions of its own for just about every subject.

Neville had tried reading a few of the lighter books from this stack, and eventually gave up, asking Harry if he would mind sharing some notes.

* * *

Over this time Harry finished reinforcing his mental library, and started a bit of a beautifying campaign as well. The simple furniture gave way richly carved and gilded dark hardwood, the seating having over stuffed cushions made of red fabric with fleur-de-lis designs. The stone floor was replaced with a plush crimson deep pile carpeting. The last decorative item was a painting of a stag standing in a forest clearing with a pond with a few red lilies in it.

On the defensive front, the visible stone had been transformed into the new stone that made up the outer walls of his mind. All of the books looked different though none had a title on the cover. All of them had contents, even if they were only books he had read. His defensive misdirection gained a complicated labyrinth complete illusory false walls, a few more false 'memory archives', a few Penrose Staircases just to make intruders' heads hurt, and an omnipresent mist that hampered visibility that had thick roaming banks of fog in it.

Harry had a small model of his defenses in his inner mind that he used to plot out his changes, and test some more esoteric and logic defying aspects builds of the maze. Harry had an idea what the next lesson in building defenses would be and was already building mockups of various traps in small models as well.

* * *

When the 'festivities' of the Slytherin prank war were gone, Harry started to get anxious about his first Quidditch match. He had taken up pacing whenever he wasn't working, and had even started reading while doing it. No amount of consolation from the more veteran members of the team could stop him. The other rookie player, Chaser and second year Katie Bell, joined in the restless behavior two days before the match.

The morning of the match, the Saturday before Halloween. Harry forced himself to eat, barely able to get any food in him. Toast smeared with grape jam, a rasher or two of bacon, and a half dozen bites of scrambled egg was all he could stomach. As Wood, yelled from down the table, "Team to the locker room," Neville gave Harry a reassuring grin, and Hermione gave him a comforting look from over a copy of _'Quidditch Through the _Ages' she was reading.

When Harry saw the manic gleam in Oliver's eyes Harry tuned out his speech before it started. Oliver only really had one speech when it came to getting the team pumped up for practice, it had three different parts that each had three different wordings, and he just varied them as he pleased. The twins of course made fun of him under their breath from where they stood flanking Harry. Trying to ease a slight set of shakes that had entered his hands, Harry shouldered the borrowed school broom and team then made its way to the pitch. He took a few deep breaths to fight down his rising anxiety. The captains shook hands, Hootch kicked open the crate containing the balls, three of which immediately flew off, the teams kicked off, and the game commenced.

Apart from a bludger sent his way, Harry had the first five minutes to circle the pitch from well above play and ponder Wood's strategy for him during his first match. Wood had decided that Harry should keep his play simple for his first game, so Harry continued to simply circle the pitch, staying well away play. Forty-five minutes into the game, while he was moving across mid-field and his counter-part was near the Gryffindor goal hoops, he spotted a gleam of gold near the ground by the Slytherin goal hoops. Harry continued his leisurely movement toward that end of the pitch, and when he was halfway there, he set off at the broom's unremarkable top speed, and caught the snitch with no issues. The ending score was 210 – 20.

* * *

The following week passed with little of event happening, however Harry became increasingly disconsolate as the week progressed. Neville and Hermione were the only ones who really noticed, being the two he spent the most time with. When Halloween finally came around, he said nothing all day, going through his classes and studies in a listless haze. After lunch Hermione, against Neville's quiet protestations, dragged Harry into an empty classroom and asked, "What is wrong with you?"

The only reply he gave her was a dirty look.

She missed the point, and said, "I'm waiting."

In a tone one might use to explain a simple fact to a small child (and in a very condescending manner), he said, "It's Halloween."

Her perplexed look only served to show that she, like most of the castle population who were celebrating and encouraging Harry to celebrate, just did not get it. Neville, and amazingly the Twins, had been the only ones to catch the meaning of his behavior.

And Neville knew exactly what Harry was feeling. He had talked with Harry previously about what had happened to his own parents. About how they had been tortured into insanity, exactly a week after the attack on Godric's Hollow.

Harry made a noise that showed his disgust and displeasure, looked at Neville and rolled his eyes, before he turned on the spot and stormed out of the room. Hermione was still clueless and stood rooted on the spot for a moment, before moving to go after him, but was stopped by Neville.

"Neville, we need to know why he is acting like this!"

Neville, in a rather venomous tone, asked, "Hermione. Halloween. The attack on Godric's Hollow. How can you be so **thick**?"

A look of horror crossed her face, and she clapped a hand to her mouth.

"I would suggest you just give him space for the rest of the day."

And she took Neville's advice. She didn't get Harry to try and talk about it. She didn't try and force him to act like normal. She just let him be. And he was grateful for it. After his last class, he headed up to the common room. He didn't plan on going down to the Feast tonight. He'd figured he could miss one meal, so long as he still took his potions. He was almost finished with them anyway.

That plan was altered when the Twins came in from their class, and with one look each at each other and Neville, they frog-marched Harry out of the common room, and into the kitchens. It hadn't really crossed his mind to get food from here, but in the first, and only, words he would speak kindly that day, "Thank you."

* * *

A week later, Neville was as quiet as Harry had been on Halloween. Instead of taking any meals in the Great Hall, Harry led him to the kitchens for each meal. Hermione accompanied them, but didn't ask any questions. This was probably due to the fact that Harry would give her a very dirty look whenever she opened her mouth with a questioning look on her face. The day passed in more or less silence for the group, partly because Neville had made sure he had nothing that desperately needed doing that night, and went to bed early.

Once he was out of sight, Hermione started bombarding him with questions, to which he simply replied, "Mind your own bloody business."

The venom in his tone reminded her of how Neville had spoken to her on Halloween. Her mouth formed a small o, a look of horror crossed her face, and she softly said, "Sorry."

"Just don't do it again, Hermione."

He pulled out some of his supplemental Transfiguration reading, and settled in for the night.

* * *

The next month and three-quarters passed, with nothing remarkable happened. Sure the twins played pranks, mostly on the one of the following groups; the entirety of Slytherin House, the more stuck-up members of Ravenclaw, or those who cost Gryffindor a large number of points in one go. The few pranks in which Alistair added his own input were particularly memorable. Mostly because those were directed at the staff. That time at dinner when the whole school broke into a rather insane rendition of Danny Boy left everyone confused. And it gave Harry an idea.

Neville and Harry continued pranking Malfoy and Ronald, who had taken to taunting Harry (and each other) in the hallways. Due to some information from the twins, Ron would occasionally be confronted with a spider that appeared from nowhere, and would run away screaming like a little girl. Draco would find various substances ruining his perfectly coiffed hair. Both of the chief gits of the Slytherin first years taken to deriding the muggleborns students whenever they could. Additional pranks stuck to various changes in the color of the offending parties' robes, switching the hair of the pair (to which Malfoy was far more horrified about, which caused Harry and Neville to set up the traps to dump stuff in his hair), and with a little help from Padfoot, used some rather potent muggle laxatives against them.

The Twins' contribution to this was to write to their mother. Ronald received a letter that yelled at him, a Howler, from her explaining just what would happen when he came home because of his bullying. Among being forced to de-gnome the garden for the entire garden, a laundry list of other chores and lost privileges. Harry saw the twins give each other a celebratory chest bump later.

Fred and George were rather pleased with the pair of first years. During some time that both pairs had free, the twins dragged Harry and Neville into one of the many abandoned rooms in the castle.

"We've never." "In our three." "Long years, ever." "Been so proud of." "Some of out juniors." "So in reward we." "Have decided to expand." "Your available arsenals." "With which to." "Punish those who." "Worsen our collective." "Hogwarts experience."

With that said, they started to teach the pair some more... embarrassing spells to use against various offending parties. Harry's favorite was a hex which caused the person to uncontrollably pass gas for upwards of an hour, but Neville was rather fond of one that caused the hexed person to try and waltz with the nearest person. Two people hexed would waltz together.

The two Quidditch games during this period of time, Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff and Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff, resulted in two defeats for the house of the loyal, though they put up a good fight of it. Harry had taken a liking to his 'Puff yearmates, even though he only shared one class a week with them, and so could be seen cheering for them in both matches. During the second match, he (with Neville accompanying him and Hermione in the library because Harry wasn't playing) was dragged over to sit with his Badger yearmates.

Classes proceeded in the same manner as before, the Gryffindor Trio taking the top places in their house, and placing high withing their year, with Hermione and Harry still taking first and a very close second in the year. Harry continued his extra reading, but didn't seek any new lessons from Alistair regarding mental defenses. He spent most of the time working on how to make the new portions of his defenses as surreal and disorienting as possible.

Harry been exchanging letters with Nicolas, Perenelle, and Sirius since he had gotten caught up from being in St. Mungo's. Sirius more than the others, simply due to his proclivity for pranking. Most letters were sent via school owl, however when he told the Flamels about Hedwig being a phoenix, and also apparently being one of his familiars, he had given the letter to her to deliver. They said he would be pointed toward all the books they had about familiars and phoenixes, and would also try to answer any questions he might have.

Finally, the Winter Holidays started, and Harry, Neville, and Hermione ended up sharing a compartment with the twins, and for most of the ride the boys played a few rounds of exploding snap while Hermione stuck her nose in a book. The ride passed uneventfully, except for some obligatory taunting from the Ferret who was accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle as always.

"If it isn't two blood traitors, an almost squib, the mudblood, and Potty..."

That was as far as he got before he had to run when they started throwing spells at the trio. The few that connected resulted in Malfoy having an uncontrollable case of gas and the bookends doing a rather respectable waltz down the train.

On the platform, Padfoot was standing near the Flamels, both the Weasley parents and the little sister were waiting for the Hogwarts contingent of the clan, and Neville's Gran were easily recognized, and the pair of people Hermione went to were apparently her parents. Watching for a few minutes with a slight grin on his face, seeing his friends go to their families, he laughed and made his way to his.

* * *

Dumbledore was upset. His normal means of observing what was going on in the castle refused to report to him about Harry. From the portraits and ghosts, all the way down to the house-elves, they refused to speak to him about the boy. He had been considering returning some of the heirlooms he had recovered from the cottage at Godric's Hallow following the deaths of James and Lily, thinking it would gain some measure of trust from the boy. But he could not find the items anywhere. As he tore apart his office and private spaces for the objects he just knew to be there, he wanted to howl in frustration.

* * *

Greeting his two guardians and his godfather, they decided to go out into non-magical London for lunch. Exiting the platform, they were greeted by a grinning Remus. Sirius led them to a kebab restaurant that he was fond of and initiated conversation by talking about how he would have invited Harry and everyone over for the holidays, but none of the homes he had inherited from his family were fit for human habitation, save one, and his grandfather's manor was a little much to use for Christmas.

"I am still trying to decide what to do with the Black London home. I'm not sure whether to sell it, clean it up, or burn it down. I really hated that place growing up... I've written you a few times about how poorly my family and I got along."

Harry put on a rather evil grin, and said, "Well, you shouldn't bite your nose off to spite your face. No, you should instead put the nose through massive reconstructive surgery. Turn it into something you would like, and the thing you would like, your family would hate."

Sirius just stared blankly at Harry for a full minute, his jaw hanging open. Remus chortled, Pen just rolled her eyes, and Nic shook his head with an amused look on his face. Padfoot finally regained the use of his voice and said, "That is the type of plan your mother would come up with. I think that by the time we were all in fifth year, the entire school, save your father, went out of their way to avoid irritating her. When she took action against someone, it was in such a way that while you never knew who did it to you; though everyone still knew it was her if only because the person had done something major to cross her. And the fact that she always kept pictures to use against me as blackmail for later, well... let's just say your first Christmas was more peaceful than any of the Marauders originally planned due to her 'special' photo album."

The conversation of the meal then circled around the stories about his parents, much to Harry's (visible) pleasure.

* * *

Harry woke up the next morning, and for want of something better to do, and after remembering just how useful it was for pulling the rug out from under Snape, Harry began his second read-through of the Hogwarts Charter. He was interrupted at about six-thirty by a rapping on his window. Opening the window, he let the owl, Gringotts Secure Owl Number Thirteen to be precise, in. He divested it of both the expected letter from his account manager and the unexpected package. He briefly wondered why the goblin seemed to exclusively use this particular owl, but dismissed the thought.

He went into his trunk and pulled out a small bowl and a pair of owl treats. He went to his bathroom, filled the bowl with water, and set it out for the owl. He handed it one of the owl treats, sat down in a nearby chair, and opened the letter.

* * *

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_As per your inquest in your last letter, a blood/magic heir ceremony is a simple ritual that uses the magically self-updating records of Gringotts and a combination goblin post-cognition and aura diagnostic magics to trace the lineage of a witch or wizard. It yields a simple list of the families the person is heir to. I can have it prepared for you to go through at noon on December the Twenty-Seventh, so if that is agreeable, please create an appointment through your reply letter._

_As to what you so quaintly refer to as plan Q/G-7, my directives have gone off without issue and the plan itself should see fruition on Christmas Morning._

_You may well be wondering about the package carried by the owl. In doing the requested audit of your Family accounts, I found a number of heirlooms that were 'being held in trust until the Heir is of such an age to appreciate them' by your previous financial guardian. Items of rarity and/or monetary value have been placed in your family vaults. Those that I have deemed of sentimental value, and also one item which would be of benefit to your safety and defense, have been included in a shrunken chest. A simple wand tap shall return it to normal size._

_May All Your Ventures Yield Profit,_

_Griphook_

_Potter Accounts Manager_

* * *

Harry nodded, grinned, and then looked surprised in response the letter. He had sent a few letters back and forth with the goblin, mainly to get into the habit of keeping track of his finances, and had received one quarterly report so far, it being for the one ended in September. He had been more than a little surprised at the sheer size of his Family account, and in more than a little shock of the ten percent return on the investments. The first letter had included the information that Nicolas had informed Griphook that Harry was allowed to make cursory decisions regarding investments and control of voting proxies, though his guardians would have to confirm them.

He opened the package, set the breadbox-sized chest on the floor, and tapped it with his wand. He sat down on floor in front of it, and opened it with shaking hands. Inside was a photo album and a pair of journals, all three charmed to have more pages than normal. He flipped through the first few pages and he saw various wizarding photographs from his parents' time at Hogwarts, and deciding to go over it carefully later, he set it aside for later. The two journals were his mother's charms notes, and his father's transfiguration notes. He read a few pages from each and barely understood what either were writing about most of the time. Next out came a pair of wands, which he assumed were his parents'. A stuffed toy, a black dog, and he remembered this was his stuffed Padfoot. He briefly wondered what had become of the stuffed stag and wolf he had had. At the very bottom was a silvery, fluid like material.

It was at this time, with the last object in his hands, that Nicolas came in to get Harry for breakfast. He looked at the pile of stuff surrounding Harry and quirked a questioning eyebrow. "My account manager recovered a number of items that Dumbledore had been holding in trust for me until he had 'deemed me ready'." He held up the item he was holding. "Any idea what this is?"

"That would be your father's invisibility cloak. Come on, it's time for breakfast."

Harry grunted and hauled himself off the floor. "I'd like to get to Gringotts on the 27th. I vaguely remember you mentioning that you don't keep the house on the Floo Network. "

Nicolas nodded as they walked toward the kitchen. "Gonna finally take a peek into the Family vaults?"

"Actually I was going to schedule a blood/magic heir ceremony, but that would be a good idea too. I need to grab a journal my mother said would be there. Apparently my father prepared for the contingency of there being no living Potters besides me."

"When?"

"Noon."

"We can do that."

* * *

Harry sent a reply via Lucky, as he had come to dub the owl. And then he spent the days leading up until Christmas cooped up inside. He had never been particularly fond of the cold and the snow, and instead spent the time curled up in front of the fire in the sitting room, reading either books about phoenixes and familiars, or fiction, both mundane and wizard, which comprised of some of the worst poetry he had ever laid eyes upon, or extremely overdone epics. He only continued to read them for the ammunition they would give his mental defenses. He also went through the photo album, and it both upset and comforted him.

Perenelle informed him that they would be having Sirius and Remus over for Christmas. Harry looked through the photos again, and got some ammunition for his own peace of mind.

* * *

Waking up on Christmas morning, Harry decided he wanted more sleep, so he stuffed his head under a pillow, rolled over, and went back to sleep. He managed to sleep for a good while longer before he was woken up by something bounding onto, and bouncing on, his bed. He pulled his head out from under the pillow and found a very large black dog. Sitting up, with the stuffed Padfoot under one arm, he hit the real one with a pillow. Sirius jumped off the bed and turned back to normal.

"Come on, Harry! Presents!"

Harry's face blanked. He had presents. On Christmas. Someone had given him gifts.

From the door, someone who sounded like Remus said, "I think you broke him, Padfoot."

"Huh?"

In a small, awed voice, Harry asked, "I have presents?"

Looking at each other darkly, Remus and Sirius both said, "Of course."

Harry heaved himself out of bed, gave the pair a pointed look, and made his way to the bathroom. They took the hint and left, closing the door behind them.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry made his way into the kitchen, where breakfast was underway, but he still had a rather shell-shocked look on his face. Alistair had absolutely refused to be left behind, besides which Harry had owl-ordered a bunch of presents for people he knew, Hat included. He had never really expected anyone to get him anything (he was still too used to the Dursleys locking him in his cupboard on Christmas), but he wanted to give the people he liked gifts.

After they had eaten, they opened presents. Sirius and Remus got Zonko's products and notes that Harry had indeed gotten his hands on some more 'interesting' photographs his mother or father had taken of the two of them. He told Padfoot he particularly liked the one of him as a pink and purple Grim, and the one of Moony being chased by oversized, fire-breathing chickens was quite lovely. They both looked rather scared after reading their individual notes. He got Nicolas and Perenelle jumpers that had magically animated flames. He apologized that he couldn't think of anything else to get them. He opened Alistair's for him, and inside were a set of feathers to stick in the cap. Peacock, eagle, and a tail feather that Hedwig had donated. He had sent Neville a collection of magical plant seeds, and Hermione was given a trio of books on Occlumency, which Neville had told Harry she had asked about, with a note pleading with her not to ask either of them about the subject anymore. He sent the twins even more Zonko's stuff than he gave the Marauders, with the anticipation that they would only use them against those who deserved it.

From Sirius he got a mirror he was told would allow him to talk to Sirius without have to write letters back and forth, but since that had been James's, he also got a set Quidditch armor, specifically for the Seeker position. Remus got him a never-ending journal to take notes in, Nicolas had gotten him an enchanted bird stand that would shrink and be restored at wand-tapped commands, and Perenelle had gotten him a box with an expanded interior, charmed to keep its contents ever-fresh, and it was filled with herbs to feed Hedwig. Neville had sent him a book on dueling tactics and Hermione had sent him a homework planner. The twins had sent him a few Zonko's products, and for some reason he couldn't fathom, he got a jumper and tin of fudge from their mother. He also got a letter from Madam Bones forwarding the results of his tortures' trials. Life in Azkaban, no parole. Dudley had been shipped off to his Aunt Marge.

Following lunch, Remus and Sirius had dragged Harry out to a movie theater that was showing a few Christmas classics. The two Marauders had already decided on _'A Christmas Story'_, which Harry ended up berating the two for. He called the main character a number of names, the least of which being git and moron. The two decided Harry also had his mother's tastes in regards to entertainment.

At dinner that night, Remus taking a look at Harry's hair, asked, "When was the last time you got that disaster trimmed?"

Harry actually had to think about it for a minute. Sure, for the longest time his aunt and uncle had forced him to try and get his hair cut to tame it, but it always regrew quickly, but then there was the time his aunt had basically lopped it all off save the fringe that hid his scar, and when it grew back overnight, after the beating he had been given, they had decided not to waste money on hair cuts for him anymore. He eventually came up with an answer, "Two years ago, give or take a couple months?"

This answer struck the conversations at the table dead for a few minutes, and put either thoughtful or amazed looks on their faces. All Harry could say was, "What?"

Sirius grinned, and said, "Let's get you through the rest of the school year, and then I'll explain why that it is significant."

With an answering shrug, Harry dug back into his food.

* * *

Arriving at Gringotts two days later, with Nicolas deciding to wait at the Leaky Cauldron, and half an hour before the scheduled appoint, Harry was led from the lobby to a waiting room staffed by one of Gringotts human employees, and he told the receptionist that he awaited Griphook's pleasure. He waited about fifteen minutes before the goblin came out and led Harry to another room, where before entering he was divested of anything magical in nature, to which he thanked the gods for his preference for muggle clothes. Every inch of the walls and ceiling were carved with runes, and the floor had seven solid metal circles set into it. He was given a potion to drink and set in a chair in the center-most circle. Griphook then explained that he would have to wait for about an hour, and then he would have to give some blood. He would have his results an hour after that.

Griphook then left him there, with a small stack of muggle magazines to read. Old muggle magazines. Harry grinned at this, having had a number of conversations with Neville about the idiocy of blood purity. A pureblood would be sitting here, naked or next to it, with nothing to read but things written by people they despised. Muggleborns and more than a few half-bloods would possibly get the joke about old magazines and waiting rooms. He opened a copy of TIME from 1979 and started to kill time.

An hour later, as Griphook walked back in, Harry had finished the stack of magazines, and was in the middle of his thirty-second verse of _'Henery the Eighth, I Am'_. He had to talk to Sirius about the possibility of a charm to make Slytherins sing that song endlessly. The goblin was grinning, and Harry had the feeling that they watched this room like normal people watched TV. Harry was led back to Griphook's office, where his palm was cut and he bled into a bowl of some blue liquid, until the contents turned silver. His hand was then healed.

And then Griphook led Harry down to his Family vault. Save for explanations from the goblin, all of this had passed in silence. Harry grabbed the simple brown leather bound journal that was on a table near the door, and then roamed around looking at the various objects in the vault. There were no magical portraits in retention, though there were a number of wands, a good many books, and quite a bit of jewelry. All of that was aside from the rather obvious piles of gold, silver, and copper. Leaving the vault and going back up into the bank proper, he took the journal and started reading it, waiting for the results.

Eventually, Griphook conducted him back into the office, saying, "The results are rather... interesting." He slid a piece of parchment across the desk. Harry read it, blinked several times, read it again, and had a look of shear awe cross his face.

Harry said, in a hushed tone, "Now what are the odds of that..."

"It has been a few centuries since this ceremony has been used this way, but we will also be using the entirety of the raw information to build a complete family tree. Normally, Gringotts only provides a list such as that. But it will take time. And there will be an additional surcharge. I will inform you when it is complete."

Harry handed the list back to Griphook and said, "Can you see to it that that makes its way into the Family vault?"

"Of course Mr. Potter."

"Thank you very much for your time, Griphook. May your vaults overflow with gold."

"Have a good day Mr. Potter, may all your ventures yield a profit."

* * *

The rest of the holidays went by, with Harry having found the Flamels' collection of wizarding periodicals. So he managed to pass the time by dividing his time between reading those periodicals (mainly those relating to brooms and Quidditch), what wizarding fiction he could stomach, his preferred mundane fiction, and his supplemental reading for class, the last of which he was beginning to run out of. Finally the day before he had to leave came around, and he packed his things up. He spent the rest of the day applying all he had worked out about adding confusion to his mental defenses.

The following day, shrunken trunk in his pocket, and Hedwig on his shoulder, the Flamels apparated to the Platform, but Hedwig took care of the transport for her and Harry. Harry had managed to convince both Hedwig and the Flamels into doing this. Hedwig was bribed with slightly frozen fruit, while the Flamels agreed with his argument that it was a viable means of emergency travel that he need to get used to. He wanted to experience what it was like to be transported by a phoenix just once, and so, disappearing from the house in one burst of flame, and then reappearing on the Platform in another, Harry immediately began thanking and flattering Hedwig. She was appropriately smug about it.

Being one of the first on the train, Harry went to the last compartment in the last car, and settled in for the train ride back to the school with a book. He was joined shortly thereafter by Hermione who took out a book of her own, and then later by Neville.

When everyone one was there, he said, "Thanks for the dueling book Neville," his tone became a bit more rigid as he turned to Hermione, "and thank you for the thought Hermione, but I am quite capable of keeping track of my homework on my own."

Hermione blushed and looked away, while Neville rolled his eyes and said, "While I already had growings of most of the seeds you sent me, there a few in the group that I had wanted for a while, thanks Harry."

Hermione looked back up and said, "Thank you for the books Harry, and I'll try to stop asking, it just seemed like it would be so useful..."

Five minutes before the train was scheduled to leave, Fred and George stopped by and said, "Well if it isn't our two favorite firsties."

"And the one that old McGonagall is going to have try."

"And ride herd on them with little effect for years to come."

"We'll come check up on you three later."

As they turned to leave Harry asked, "Why did I get a present from your mother?"

"Ah. We may have told Mum that you."

"Might not have been expecting Christmas presents."

"It seems like she could not stand the thought of that."

"Mum's a big believer that everyone should get at least one present."

Part way through the train ride, Malfoy dropped by for some taunting, but Harry cut him off by throwing a cupcake at him. He blinked with confusion, huffed, and stormed off, and Harry tested a spell as he retreated. Fifteen minutes later the Ferret started singing,

"_I'm Henery the Eighth, I am  
Henery the Eighth I am, I am!  
I got married to the widow next door..."_

He was bewildered by the compulsion to sing this horrid song... and after ten verses, he couldn't get it out of his head!

* * *

Dumbledore was confused. He watched as the students entered the school, and could not believe the fact that Harry had a phoenix, a _white_ phoenix, riding on his shoulder. And it appeared that he and Neville had become fast friends. While from an acceptable light family, the Longbottoms had never been as pliable as other families that he would prefer Harry to befriend. He was at a loss at what to do for the first time in a long time. He could not think of a plan to accomplish what he needed done. And it scared him. The Greater Good was in such danger.

* * *

As Harry entered the common room, he was grabbed roughly around the shoulders by Wood, and told, "McGonagall has called for a meeting of the House Team in her office at seven." Harry nodded and brought his things up to the dorm, took out his mother's charms notes, and started rereading a section he both understood and thought would be very useful.

At five of seven, he stood outside his Head of House's office, along with the other six players. He was still reading those notes, and absently tapping his foot. The door opened and the team filed in. They all took various positions standing in front of her desk, some of the team more anxious than others. Harry, standing behind everyone else, stuffed the journal into an inside pocket of his robes.

McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "Well I have some interesting news. Courtesy of an anonymous donor, the Gryffindor House Quidditch Team now has the use of seven brand new, top of the line Cleansweeps." The team broke into cheers and excited shouting. Harry put an innocent look on his face with a smile, nodded his head. "I can see you are all very excited. Here is to hoping that this will help us win the cup this year. Mr. Potter, I'd like to speak to you about one of your class assignments, the rest of you may leave."

As the last team member left and closed the door behind her, Harry said, "I know, I am a terrible actor, Professor. I can put blank looks on perfectly, but otherwise my range is terrible."

All the professor did in response to this was raise an eyebrow.

"So I am assuming you want me to explain."

"Please do, Mr. Potter."

"In the simplest terms, it is a secondary means to get around the rule that first years cannot own brooms. However it will also allow other Gryffindors to play for the team without owning their own brooms, or relying on the questionable school brooms. I'll probably use the Cleansweep for the two remaining games of the year, and then come back with my very own racing broom next year."

"I must admit Mr. Potter, that is a bit of reasoning worthy of a Ravenclaw, put into effect with the cunning of a Slytherin, and done with the team spirit of a Hufflepuff. So if I may ask, why are you in my house?"

"Quite simple Professor, I chose. Is that all?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, have a good night."

"You too, ma'am."

* * *

Entering into the common room, Harry was once more accosted, this time by Neville. All he said was, "I need to talk to you and Alistair." Harry turned on his heel and left the common room, Neville right behind, and after poking his head into a few of the rooms closer to the common room, he found an empty one.

Using a simple cleaning charm, he removed the layer of dust from the long abandoned desk, and set Alistair on it, who morphed back to his default form. Neville entered the room a moment later.

Alistair started the conversation, "I assumed they found something?"

Neville nodded, the corner of his left eye twitching.

Harry sighed and said, "It wasn't as bad as it was with me, was it?"

Neville shook his head, and spoke in a hoarse voice, "No, there were only a trio of minor blocks on my magic, and those had almost been broken already, but one of them had been specifically designed to block accidental magic. My family put me through hell trying to force magic out of me, all because of Dumbledore!"

Alistair made an upset grunting sound, and then intoned, "I assume you are asking me as a relatively unbiased member of the staff to initiate the protection protocols?"

Neville nodded. "Yes," he pulled a letter from his grandmother, "and my Grandmother agrees. If I think of anything to ask, I'll ask you through Harry."

Putting the Hat, who quickly transformed to a basic black watchcap, back on his head, Harry said, "Come on, Nev. Let's go see if Dean and Seamus want to play a game of exploding snap."

* * *

The following day saw a puzzled Dumbledore walking the halls of his school. He had asked some of his spies in the castle for information on Neville, to see what he could find out about Harry by proxy, but they were refusing to report on that boy too. It was infuriating, to have been master of this castle for so long, unopposed and unhindered, that he was now being contested so often. He didn't notice when one of the suits of armor stuck out a leg to trip him...

* * *

As classes resumed, Harry became who his yearmates in his house came to for help. Sure Dean and Seamus had already come to him a few times, but Parvati and Lavender had gone to Hermione until they finally got fed up with her regurgitating the textbooks word for word when they had overheard Harry explaining it in rather simple terms to Seamus at the same time. And it actually suited Hermione just fine; she had started to get fed up with people who just couldn't get it when she explained something.

Harry remained mostly inactive on the prank front. While he aided and abetted the Twins and Neville, he did not initiate any of his own. When asked about what he was planning by the other three, his answering smile was almost demonic and combined with his silence, they found it most unsettling. They stopped asking after the third time. Fred was starting to have nightmares.

When the first Quidditch match of the new year rolled around, and it was Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw. The match was short. Gryffindor scored three quick goals and, before the Ravenclaws even got to make an attempt at Wood's hoops, Harry made a spectacular dive and snatched the snitch out of the air, winning the game 180 - 0. Gryffindor's next game the following month, this one versus Hufflepuff, lasted for two hours. By the time the Snitch finally showed up, Harry was just praying for the end, to save his second favorite house further humiliation. An easy catch later, Gryffindor was a shoo-in for the Quidditch cup, the game's score 450 – 60.

* * *

The Monday after Gryffindor secured the Quidditch cup, anyone who watched Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley would have wondered why, every hour on the hour, like clockwork, they would say an increasing number and hum a few bars of the 1812 overture.

* * *

As the school neared the Spring Holidays, most of the student body in the upper years became rather frantic in their studies. Harry however had finally run out of reading material. So, he went to each of his teachers (and his potions proxies) asking if they had any more recommendations, and he was given suggestions for basic reading to go through in preparation for second year.

Harry had started taking long walks outside when the weather broke. He occasionally had Neville with him, but it did not occur too often. He seemed to manage at least seven miles a week. He also took to throwing treats to the Giant Squid, and having tea with Hagrid once a week. Just because the man was a patsy for Dumbledore didn't mean he wasn't one of the friendliest blokes Harry had ever met.

* * *

During the Spring Holidays something very strange happened in the castle. Students started getting purple hands. It started in Ravenclaw, and spread through the house like the cold. Sometime between lunch and dinner on the first day it spread to Hufflepuff. By breakfast the next day most of Ravenclaw had it, and all of Hufflepuff. A good many Gryffindors had it, but no one in Slytherin. Lunch came with the majority of Gryffindor sporting purple hands, the rest of Ravenclaw, and Crabbe and Goyle from Slytherin. A day and a half, later there was not a member of the student body without purple hands, and even a few staff members had it. Everyone's hands returned to normal shortly after lunch five days after it began.

* * *

The Saturday two weeks after the spring term started, Crabbe and Goyle were quarantined in the Hospital wing with what appeared to be Spattergroit. Being Crabbe and Goyle, nobody thought that to be strange for those two gorillas to get that particular ailment.

Two days later, at breakfast, Ronald and Malfoy both started singing a verse of _'I'm Henery the Eighth, I Am'_, once every five minutes. It spread to the rest of Slytherin by the time everyone went to bed that night. But then, it spread to Ravenclaw at breakfast the next morning. By the time dinner came around there was not a house unaffected.

At breakfast the following morning, Professor McGonagall called for whoever caused this to turn them self or -selves in.

* * *

After dinner Harry knocked on the door of Professor McGonagall's office, his face mostly blank. Even though he had gotten better about feeling his emotions, he still tended not to show them. Entering and taking a seat as directed, she asked, "Did you already go through the basic books for second year, Mr. Potter?"

He shook his head, and staring at a space two inches above her left shoulder, said, "I did it."

McGonagall looked flummoxed, and stuttered, "You? What? How?"

"I said..." He broke into a verse of the song. "I'm responsible for that. It was never supposed to spread beyond Slytherin."

"And just how did you, a first year, manage a... viral... charm for lack of a better term?"

He smiled, "My mum's charms notes."

"Why? Why do something like this? I assume it was you behind the whole purple hands fiasco?"

"I wanted to see if I could combine my mother's notes on time delaying a charm, setting it to repeat, and adding a viral aspect to it. I used the purple hands to test the viral aspect and see if and how it would move into Slytherin."

"And when you saw that Messers. Crabbe and Goyle were the first to get the purple hands... How did you manage to get them to catch Spattergroit?"

"Potioned cake. Those two would eat anything not tied down, so I am not really guilty of anything if they would eat found cake."

The professor was struck speechless by this.

"So what is my punishment, ma'am?"

"Yes. Yes. For having the courage and honor to come to me, Gryffindor gets 15 points. You get 20 points for the rather amazing spell work. But I am going to have to take 75 points from Gryffindor for this rather outrageous prank, and you are going to have to serve a detention with Hagrid on Friday night."

Harry nodded, asked after another verse of the song, "Yes, ma'am. Is that all?"

"Just a question and a comment. When will this end?"

"Breakfast tomorrow, the finale should be quite a spectacle. And the comment?"

"I'm glad I figured out why Alistair gave you the option of Gryffindor."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall. If I may say, I'm glad that we're still in the lead for the House Cup."

"So am I, Mr. Potter. Have a good night."

"You too, ma'am."

After Harry left and closed the door, the stern woman broke down laughing, and knew that if her godson was still alive today, he would be proud of his son. In so many more ways than one.

* * *

At breakfast the next day, every last student, and even a few teachers, suddenly began, all at once, and all in unison:

_"Eight-hundred__ and sixty-fourth verse, same as the first  
I'm Henery the Eighth, I am,  
Henery the Eighth I am, I am!  
I got married to the widow next door,  
She'd been married seven times before.  
And everyone was a Henery  
She wouldn't have a Willie or a Sam  
I'm her eighth old man named Henery  
Henery the Eighth, I am!"_

Harry left breakfast after eating as quickly as possible. Thankfully McGonagall had not made an announcement about just who was responsible for this disaster. Because if the student body didn't end up lynching him here and now, they would very well end up doing it later. He had used that song for the simple reason that it had a disturbing tendency to get stuck in people's heads. He had been hoping that at least Malfoy's and Ronald's exposure to the song would last for a while... But with the entire school singing it? He had no clue when the last person would get it out of their head.

Alistair, who had been cheering on this marvelous bit of chaos, had become even more amused when it had leaked outside of Slytherin House. And Sirius had wanted updates as Harry had slowly geared up for what would be the largest prank of his first year. Being that it was Thursday Harry had plenty of time until class started, and he had yet to tell Padfoot just how far out of control things had gotten.

But then again, it had been out of his control since the spells flew, it was just a calculated lack of control. Making his way into an empty broom cupboard, he pulled out the two-way mirror and muttered, "Padfoot."

In the glass, a disheveled and mostly asleep Sirius appeared. "Mrgh, it's too early pup... Pup!" He woke up from one use of the word to the next, and his face lit with mirth. "So how'd the prank go?"

"Like a train wreck."

"Well your father and I never figured out what was more amusing, when the plans went off without a hitch, or when they derailed in a catastrophic fashion. So on, a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest, how big of a disaster was it."

"A thirteen."

"Explain, pup, explain."

"You remember how I explained how the purple hands only seemed to spread into Slytherin from Crabbe and Goyle." Sirius nodded. "Well I was wrong."

A look of surprise and awe crossed the old prankster's face, and he asked in a hushed tone, "Just how much of the school did you get?"

"Every last member of the student body, and at least half of the staff, in... clud... ing Remus..." A look of surprise hit Harry like a ton of bricks. "That... that... old... I don't know what to call him! Did you tell him what I was planning?"

Sirius looked confused for a moment, and said, "Of course pup..." And then he too was hit by comprehension.

"So how does that rate my prank then?"

Sirius closed his eyes and muttered for a few moments, and said, "It was a well planned masterpiece of a junior Marauder that was given a gentle push by a master into legendary status. So, eight of ten given your general skill level if it had gone as planned, ten of ten for effect given the nudge from Moony."

"I just hope no one finds out it was me. If this song sticks around like I think it may, I could be lynched. I know for certain I am going to be cornered by the twins and Neville, sooner rather than later. And I confessed to McGonagall."

"_Why_?"

"Because it had spiraled out of control, and she asked that the person responsible to report to her office."

"What's the damage?"

"Net loss of 40 points and a detention with Hagrid on Friday night."

"Not too shabby."

"I've got some things I need to do, have a good day Sirius."

"Have a good day pup."

* * *

And in fact, as he came out of the broom cupboard, he was dragged into an empty classroom by the Twins, with Neville tagging along.

"Was." "It." "You?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"Why didn't."

"You trust."

"Us to aid."

"You in this."

"Havoc?"

"All the spell modifications came from a journal belonging to my mother," was the simple explanation that he gave, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

And it was. To Harry. The others needed to take a minute to think about it, and then it dawned on them.

He conveniently left out his suspicion about how it had gotten out of the target house, but continued, "I did have to confess to McGonagall, the prank was supposed to only happen to the Slytherins."

The three said in unison, "Noble git."

Harry then spent the next hour refusing all attempts to get the viral spell modification from his notes. He did however promise them copies of the notes he had on time delays. Which are from his own studies.

Classes that day, and the day that followed, went smoothly, but the number of people humming the song under their breath or even singing a few lines, was staggering. Harry fervently prayed to anyone that would hear his pleas, that his status as the culprit would remain secret. But Friday night came all too quickly.

* * *

Being led from the castle by Professor McGonagall, sometime shortly before eleven, Harry said, "I figured out how the charm vectored out of Slytherin."

"How?"

"Professor Moony."

If it had been any other person in existence he had been talking to, he would have sworn the sound she made was a snicker. "Did you tell him about what you were planning?"

"No, however my dogfather couldn't keep his mouth shut."

"And what did you learn?"

"That I am to keep any and all Marauders on a need-to-know basis, and they never need to know until after the fact."

"Take five points for a lesson well learned, Mr. Potter."

They passed the rest of the trip to Hagrid's hut in silence. She simply told him to do whatever Hagrid said for him to do, and left him with the large, gentle man who had a preference for deadly creatures.

"All right there, Harry?"

"Fine, Hagrid."

"We have to go into the Forest. Like I told you over tea, something has been killing animals in there, and I have no idea what. It has been happening since after the Opening Feast."

Harry blinked. And he quickly chained facts together into a logical, and horrifying, conclusion. Dumbledore had baited the castle with something of the Flamels'. Voldemort had come to take the bait. He had been run out of the castle by the castle. Nic and Pen had retrieved their item, but only Dumbledore, Harry, Alistair, and a few others knew that. No one who knew would tell Voldemort.

So while both trap and bait were gone, the quarry to be trapped was still hanging around.

Bugger.

So Harry followed Hagrid into the forest, silent as a grave, and staying as close to the massive man as possible without being stepped on. For two hours, he followed Hagrid around the forest. Nothing really bothered either of them, but Harry couldn't escape the feeling that he was being watched. So he gripped his lit wand a little more tightly.

After the third hour, Hagrid finally said they were going back to the castle.

**:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:. The First Time Fated Strands Converge: The Specter .:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:**

It all happened so quickly that it wasn't until he had a chance to carefully go over the memory that he figured out what exactly had happened. Harry had tripped over a tree root, and fallen face first into the mud. Hagrid, with his long strides, was a good thirty feet away before he noticed Harry had fallen. Dazed from the face plant, Harry was only vaguely aware of the massive tree that fell and blocked him off from his protector.

He was trying, in vain, to dust himself off and clear the ringing from his ears when he heard Hagrid yell for him to stay right where he was. Unsettled by being alone in the forest, he put his back to the nearest tree. He looked around nervously hoping for Hagrid to hurry.

But when he heard a sibilant whisper say, _"Potter..."_ The bottom dropped out of his stomach and his fear upgraded to something short of panic. It whispered again, and Harry was able to place the direction it was coming from. He started to back away.

A very large snake came into view, and it must have been at least ten feet long. It reared up and Harry saw that its face was... deformed. It looked like a twisted parody of a human face.

One word, one **name**, came to his mind.

Voldemort.

His fear and near panic evaporated in a puff of red-hot rage. He stopped retreating and leveled his wand at the... thing... that housed the malignant spirit of the Dark Lord.

And it laughed.

So Harry sent a quick chain of a cutting curse, a piercing hex, and a bludgeoning spell at it. All three very basic spells with few movements and short incantations. The snake was dead before the last spell batted it into a tree. But then it didn't really do any good.

In the place where the snake was, there was something far more solid than a ghost, but infinitely more corrupted. And it laughed.

_"Oh, Potter, you may look like your father, but you definitely have your mother's spirit. I'm lucky that I caught her that night without her wand."_

The red rage in Harry had evaporated, to be replaced by a cold dread.

_"I was just about to give up on getting in the castle, Potter. It had somehow blocked my attempts to get in, no matter what body I stole... But now, with a student, I may finally be able to get what I came for. If you cooperate, I may even let you live to serve me."_

Barely controlling his shaking, he gathered every bit of defiance he could muster and shoved it into one word.

"Never."

_"Then I shall use your body to get my own back, and leave your corpse sitting in the Great Hall!"_

The spirit of Lord Voldemort then charged at Harry, who reacted without thinking, lashing out with the first spell that came to mind, a minor shock spell. The spirit howled in pain, and then slammed into Harry.

Harry felt the outer most of the seven stone walls of his mind vaporize, the magic of the first dome shatter, and metal and wood of the primary gate groan. The vault where he kept the memory of that Halloween, that memory with the feeling of connection, groaned from a sudden assault. He could almost hear his magic cry out in pain from the contact with whatever it was that Voldemort had become. And it felt like every nerve of his body had been set on fire. And it happened all at once. For the first time in a long time, Harry Potter screamed out in pain.

But below the pain, below the assault on his mind, magic, and body, on the edge of what he could sense within himself, he felt something else respond. He could tell that whatever it was, it was angry. It did not like the thing that was attacking him, and it responded with an attack of its own. And as power surged up from the depths, as Harry felt an obstruction or two just out of sight and hearing collapse, he fell down into the blackness of unconsciousness.

**:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:. Here the Threads of Fate Diverge .:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:**

As Hagrid finally heaved himself over the fallen tree, he heard a blood curdling scream of pain. And he saw Harry, shaking like mad, as he suddenly burst into a pulse of white and gold light, a light that pushed a spirit of some kind from him, a light that made the spirit shriek in pain and send it fleeing like a demon chased by holy men. The light went out, and Harry dropped to the ground. The gentle giant ran over and scooped Harry (who still had his wand in a death grip) up. The large man then sprinted back to the castle as though all the demons in the world were chasing him.

* * *

Harry groaned in pain. It felt like he had been hit by a train. He heard talking but he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He was content to just lay there for a good long while, until he felt he could stay still no longer. He forced his eyes open and saw most of his favorite adults hovering over him. He looked around and saw that he was in the hospital wing. He heaved himself into a sitting position, most of his body protesting in pain.

He looked around at Sirius, Nicolas, and Perenelle. Madam Pomfrey was coming out of her office, and he heard the far doors of the Hospital Wing open. Madam Pomfrey started checking him over, and he sat still, letting her. He wanted to know just how much damage he had suffered.

Straightening and muttering to herself after having finished, Madam Pomfrey nodded to Remus and McGonagall, who had come into view. Everyone was just staring at him.

So, he gathered up some of his meager strength, scowled, and hoarsely grated out the word, "What?"

Sirius beat everyone else by saying, "You've been out for two days, Harry! Just what in the name of Merlin happened out in the forest?"

Coughing, Harry took a minute to respond, "The diseased spirit of someone who styled himself a Lord, and believed that there was something in this castle that would help him get his body back."

The six adults shared fearful looks, and Professor McGonagall was the one to put forth the question, "You were attacked by You-Know-Who?"

Harry didn't even deign to answer that a verbal response, and so nodded.

"Do you mind telling us what happened?"

"Gimme a glass of water and five minutes."

They did and, after taking a chance to sort through his memories from that night (he left the damage to his defenses to be repaired later), he told them exactly what happened. He managed to get, in return, exactly what happened afterward.

Madam Pomfrey then said, "Everyone out. Mr. Potter needs his rest, and doesn't need a half a dozen people hovering."

After everyone had left she turned to Harry and said, "And you. You are to rest, or I will feel absolutely no guilt at dosing you with a sleeping potion."

He was all too happy to oblige her.

* * *

Harry was not let out of the hospital wing until Thursday. Neville and Hermione brought him his work and kept him company. Sirius visited for an hour every day, and Nicolas and Perenelle visited him on Wednesday. He was achy and tired easily when he was finally set loose, and it took a fortnight from his release to get back to normal.

The soonest he could get Neville alone, he told the other boy and Alistair exactly what had happened. Alistair was right irritated that Dumbledore's half baked plan had resulted in Voldemort hanging around at the edge of the castle's defenses for so long, and miffed that McGonagall had decided to send a student into the Forbidden Forest as a detention. Harry, in her defense said that she had probably assumed Hagrid would make Harry eat his cooking and help with some of the groundskeeping, which Alistair heard was awful enough to be considered a punishment. Neville congratulated Harry on standing his ground and fighting.

* * *

The rest of the school year passed rather quickly. Classes were the same as they always were, and Harry edged even further ahead in his studies. When the last Quidditch match of the year rolled around, Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin, the match lasted for a brutal hour. The scores didn't manage to climb too high, and when the Ravens won out over the Snakes, the Lions still took the Quidditch cup.

Harry found the exams to be rather simple, and somehow managed to talk Hermione down after each one. She would only wind up giving herself an ulcer if she fretted over each one only moments after it was finished. And given that, given that she had finally started to recognize others' opinions as valid, he finally told her about what had happened during the Opening Feast. He left out everything he had kept from Neville, like the results of his heir ceremony, and he kept the fact that either him or Neville were involved in a prophecy involving Voldemort quiet, but otherwise he told her everything. He also told her what had happened in the forest. Again, he was surprised at how it had made him feel better.

All of it horrified her, and made her feel like she had been more than a little mean. She then shared her childhood with them. How she had been unable to make friends and had turned to books. About how the other students had made fun of the bookworm and the teacher's pet. Neville then related his own rocky childhood of being thought a squib, and the attempts to scare some show of magic out of him.

It was good to have people to talk to.

* * *

The leaving feast was eaten amid Gryffindor colors. Without Snape's blatant favoritism, the Slytherins were in dead last with Ravenclaw in third. A few points ahead of them were the hardworking Hufflepuffs. Harry had an enjoyable time, but cringed when a number of people still sang the occasional verse of the song he had pranked the school with. Hermione briefly wondered if that bizarre occurrence would make it into the next revision of _'Hogwarts, A History'_. He and Neville had decided it would be better to keep her out of the loop when it came to pranking.

The next day found everyone packed up and on the train. Neville and Harry killed most of the time by playing exploding snap. They were joined by a couple of different first years, including a Ravenclaw named Terry Boot and a Hufflepuff named Ernie Macmillan.

As the train pulled up to the platform, he wished his pair of friends a good summer, promised to write, grabbed his trunk, and made his way off the train. He had a grin plastered on his face. He had no clue what he was going to do for the summer, but he knew he would at the very least enjoy it.

**Here Ends Book One**

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Parallels and Echos

Being a Brief Interlude in Events and Occurring Slightly Outside of Time

Harry saw himself going through a set of traps, a giant three headed dog, a killer plant, a room full of flying keys, an oversized chess set, a knocked out troll, and a room with flames and potions. He was accompanied by a decent friend and a complete moron. At the end, he saw a mirror, and Quirrellmort. Harry saw himself do nothing while his enemy showed him his back, saw himself be used by his foe, and watched as he nearly died. All of it happen as an old man looked on, waiting for the very last moment to act.

He saw, in short, himself used and weakened. All to some purpose he couldn't understand. He then saw his night in the forest replayed, saw how it had paralleled the last part of the first vision, but instead had him showing his own strength, taking his own actions, fighting his own battle. He was growing stronger, and the only person who used him was himself.

He felt himself falling upward, up toward wakefulness, and he heard voices...

"... new voice. Wonder where this one came..."

"... the hell is this Black after..."

"... bet you 50 galleons that I am forced..."

"... since the last Inter-House War. And that was because the surviving instigators not only escaped punishment, but were..."

"... easy Leon, you can't tear her throat out. ... Why? We can't..."

"... reading it all year. It's the one of the journals of..."

"... sworn on my honor, this shall not..."

"... a weapon without use. What am I to do..."

He sat up in his bed wondering what the hell that was about.

* * *

**A/N2: Staying on schedule! Hopefully with the chapters back down to standard revise amalgam length (7k min start) chapter 6 will be less daunting. Party on Wayne! Party on Garth!**

**Also, opinions on the cover art thing?**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 14 through 18 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 11 AM, October Third, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 14:**

**Word Count: 2,386 | Character Count: 13,937 | Hits: 53,851 | Reviews: 46**

**Chapter 15:**

**Word Count: 3,376 | Character Count: 18,641 | Hits: 51,692 | Reviews: 37**

**Chapter 16:**

**Word Count: 1,988 | Character Count: 10,926 | Hits: 49,172 | Reviews: 33**

**Chapter 17:**

**Word Count: 2,921 | Character Count: 15,736 | Hits: 49,701 | Reviews: 33**

**Chapter 18:**

**Word Count: 291 | Character Count: 1,571 | Hits: 46,601 | Reviews: 20**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 10,963 | Character Count: 60,376 | Hits: 251,017 | Reviews: 169**

**New Total Word Count: 12,362 | New Total Character Count: 68,405**

* * *

**(Hits and Reviews are recalculated at the posting of this chapter and so may not match with data previously given.)**

**Book I (Originally Chapters 1 through 18, now Chapters 1 through 5) Totals:**

**Old:**

**Word Count: 41,957 | Character Count: 228,957 | Hits: 1,310,028 | Reviews: 749**

**New:**

**Word Count: 51,551 | Character Count: 287,102**

**(As a benchmark FFnet's word count total for the story so far should be around 54k)  
**


	6. The Manors of Black and Potter

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: Blame the wait on a combination of XCOM: Enemy Unknown and Assassin's Creed Revelations. Both are finished, and it should be a little bit before I find something else to play...**

* * *

**Vocal key:**

"**English"**

***Familiar Thought Speech***

**~Parseltongue~**

**'Thoughts'**

* * *

Chapter 6: The Manors of Black and Potter

**Being Events in Complement to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets**

Harry had not gotten back to sleep that night after the dream. The dream that had awakened him, the dream that so completely confused him, the dream that defied any attempt to recall the details of it escaped him. He spent the rest of the night trying to use every Occlumentic trick he had learned so far to try and gain some small smidgen of information from it. He didn't know why he was trying so hard, but there was something deep in him that said it was important. All he had for his effort was the nine brief snippets of nine people talking and three vague feelings.

He took a break from beating his head against a proverbial wall to ruminate on the three impressions that he had been imparted. One, he must avoid Dumbledore's manipulations at all costs. Two, he needed to be ready to face Voldemort on his own terms. The third however was far more nebulous. It just comprised solely of a feeling of... anticipation. It was impossible to describe any other way.

Eventually he groaned and levered himself upright, sat tailor style, and grabbing Alistair, set the Hat in front of him on the bed.

If he had eyebrows, the Hat would have quirked one as he asked, "What's wrong, lad? Even you are usually asleep at this time of night."

"The most bizarre dream I have ever had. I can't recall anything from it save for nine times I remember people talking, and those fragments I didn't even need to try and remember, like they were engraved, waiting for me. There were also two... conclusions that the dream led me to, and it also left me with a strange feeling of anticipation. And there is a nagging feeling deep inside me that **knows** that the contents of the dream are important."

A frown creased the brim of the Sorting Hat for a moment as the pair sat in silence as Alistair thought. Eventually he said, "One of the biggest problems about how first generation witches and wizards are handled currently is that absolutely no effort is made to teach them the great deal of knowledge that is taken for granted by those who are raised magical. And a great deal of it is information so common and well known that people don't really even think about it anymore and only talk about it in passing, but takes a great deal of time and effort for those new to this world to put together on their own.

"One of these is the fact that different witches and wizards are talented at different aspects of magic. While this seems like common sense, and most wouldn't think to explain any deeper. But when talents can include learning languages within days by just listening, Neville's talent to grow just about anything, your abilities with mind magic, and countless other capabilities. And those with more magical power tend to have more talents. Are you following me?"

Harry nodded, so Alistair continued, "Talents that provide information, specifically those that provide it regardless to the flow of time, make that information seem important to the person receiving it. Whether this is a seer who gives a prophecy with no memory of it but the person on the receiving end feels compelled to remember it, or in your case, a newly emerging talent that comes through dreams."

At the mention of prophecy Harry frowned, but didn't say anything. Noting this Alistair then continued, picking a relevant subject, and said sternly "I know Dumbledore's obsession with one particular prophecy has likely left you with a distaste of Divination, but that is because he is of the school of thought that all prophecies are absolute, when the common belief is that they only present a valid possibility, what may happen when the ephemeral skeins of Fate become solid at one passing moment. There are also fields of study in divination which provides information in real time, like scrying. And even a few rare uses that get data from the past."

Taking a deep breath, Harry said, "Got it. Don't let one very bad example create a dislike of something only partly related." Rolling his head to try and relieve a crick in his neck, Harry then continued, "I still don't think I am going to be able to get back to sleep, want to check on my Occlumency work?"

He led Alistair around his defenses, not really explaining things, just giving a tour when the ancient sentient artifact could observe what he had built. The labyrinth within his mind had been twisted even further into incomprehensibility, and now resembled something out of an M.C. Escher painting. Pressure sensitive areas of the floor would cause sections of the maze to reconfigure themselves, and a great many of the doors were only accessible through intricate puzzle locks.

"Harry, I only have one compliment for your defenses so far. You make my head hurt. Now, the next lesson is self-evident in its execution, and can range in lethality from light gray to dark gray, unless you really get into the Black Arts, and then just about everything in the Mind Arts can be twisted into sadistic machines of destruction."

Harry gained a rather malicious grin as he started unpacking the plethora of completely non-lethal traps he had prepared. He would get to the ones to wound and maim later, but he had these ready. The Hat watched as the thought processes of a prankster were applied to the already surreal space. Staircases that turned into slides, pitfalls into treacle, cannons that fired trout, and a large attack rubber ducky were among the tamer elements that the last Potter proceeded to quickly add to his defenses. And Harry was just getting started.

Alistair shuddered. He had always had a few doubts about Harry's sanity. He was certain now. It had taken a vacation to the arctic and never returned.

* * *

Before he went to breakfast the next morning, Harry had been working on a good chunk of his summer homework. He had gotten bored of trap making and needed something else to do, and had decided to start getting that out of the way. It was a shame that he wouldn't actually be able to practice the magic. The conversation that started when he sat down to eat just so happened to have something to do with that line of thought.

Nicolas, between eating his pancakes and eggs, said, "There are two things you should know about the notice they hand out at the end of the school year regarding using magic at home. First is that any household where both parents or guardians are magical can apply for an exemption of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery under a tutelage loophole. We've already gotten you one. This is one of the less readily known biases towards all magical families, and it is generally only known to those who have been around for a few generations."

Perenelle picked up the conversation while Nicolas ate his eggs, "Secondly, when there are enough wards around a property, such as where we currently are, the Ministry of Magic is incapable of tracking underage magic anyway. We got the exemption just to keep everything legal."

At end of breakfast, Nic also said, "Sirius told us he would be sending a letter along sometime this week, inviting you to stay with him for however long you want to this summer. The only reason he didn't invite you straight from the platform was that the renovations weren't quite complete yet. The choice is entirely yours, but he, unlike us, will actually have an active Floo connection, and so you won't have to beg and bribe Hedwig to get out of the middle of nowhere."

Taking the dishes to the sink and using a charm to set them cleaning themselves, Harry said, "I'll think about it. At the very least, I'll wait until I get my work for the holidays done. I can't see myself getting it finished without interruptions every five minutes in the house of a Marauder."

Both Pen and Nic chuckled at this comment.

* * *

Harry finished his homework the next day. Considering that he didn't want to be limited to the house and relatively small grounds of the Flamel property without having to rely on either of them or Hedwig for transportation, he told his guardians that he would be taking Sirius up on his offer after spending some time with his guardians. He then spent quite a bit of time outside, either reading, flying, or just napping in the sun.

Eventually, flying started to get a little repetitive with only a two hundred yard diameter circle to explore, and he decided he would have gladly maimed Malfoy for an obstacle course though. There was only so much circling and reckless flying in the air one could do. He was starting to get mildly bored, and more than a little stir-crazy. But then again, he would have gladly maimed Malfoy. Period.

Though there was some time Nicolas spent lecturing Harry on the basics of Alchemy, though this happened when the very old man had decided that Harry needed a potion's lesson. So while Harry was preparing ingredients under the close supervision of a master, he heard, "Of all the basic magical disciplines that are taught at Hogwarts, Alchemy is most closely related to Potions. In Potions, the ingredients are generally organic in nature, though there are potions that have inorganic components. In Alchemy, it tends to be the other way around. It also helps to have a very good grounding in materials science, so you're going to be getting quite a bit of reading before when even get to working with some simple experiments."

Nicolas also taught Harry how to play poker. Luckily for Harry they only played for matchsticks. There were also the times that the Master Alchemist spent telling Harry stories about his long life.

Perenelle spent time with Harry, she spent a little time focusing on making sure he was "adequately well mannered", she also started making sure he helped with the housework teaching him charms for dusting scrubbing, laundry, and other things that kept a household running like a well oiled machine. During these times once Harry had gotten the basics down, but just needed practice she took the time to talk about many subjects. Two of her favorite subjects were folklore from around the world and magical theory.

The first time she brought up that subject, it was quite clear that it was near and dear to her heart. "What they think they are teaching these days, I really have no clue. How do they expect children to learn magic without even the simplest low level theory? I believe that part of it has to do with the great unsolved problem of where magic comes from.

"There is magic flowing under out feet in lay lines, where when it nears the surface disperses that energy into the air, and from there it spreads into all the matter in this world. There is magic in each and every living thing, you, me, and all the plants, beasts, and beings in the whole world. But where it all comes from is something that has been argued for eons, and an answer doesn't seem to be coming any time soon.

"But what we do know is that when a being has enough magic, their thoughts and feelings can begin to give that magic form. All magical have an energy signature that can be associated with somatic and verbal components, a spell. There are spells that are either so hopelessly complex or incredibly powerful that the signature cannot be decompiled or even perceived. However, when a spell is first created, the association with the movements and incantations is weak, so the magic is difficult to perform even if it is verbalized perfectly and the movements are crisp and flawless, and it is only through repeated use by many people that the spells became easier.

"And as a person performs spells repeatedly, their patterns become easier and easier for the person to form. So even if a mage has made a brand new spell that they haven't shared with a single soul, they can still perform it with ease if they have practiced it endlessly."

* * *

On Friday afternoon almost two weeks after Hogwarts let out, Harry was outside lying on his back, staring at the clouds, and faintly heard something coming near him. He also felt a faint tug on his mind in the direction it was coming from. Hauling himself into a sitting position and turning toward it, Harry saw something moving along the grass.

He decided he would just let whatever it was know he knew it was there and said, "Hello?"

A snake reared itself up, looking in Harry's direction. It was a bright emerald green with black stripes. It bobbed its head excitedly, and set off in Harry's direction. When the snake got within five yards, he could 'hear' it, gleefully speaking, *Found you, found you! Why'd you have to be so far from where I was?*

Harry then said, teasingly, ~Why did _you_ have to be so far from me?~

The snake reared up again, and said, aloud, ~You can speak my language?~

Harry opened his mouth for a moment, thought for a moment, closed his mouth, thought about it a little more, and then finally said, ~Apparently I can. The first time I used it I talked to a snake I sicced a boa constrictor on my lard ass of a cousin.~

~Awesome! Well... maybe awesome... was your cousin a nice guy?~

~He's a petty, lazy bully.~

~Well awesome then!~

Now that it was closer, Harry could see that it was four, nearly five feet long and it had vivid yellow eyes. Moving once more towards Harry, it climbed up his arm, and coiled itself gently around his neck. ~Do you mind if I take a nap? I've been looking for you for weeks!~

~Sure, can I just ask two questions first?~

~Well, you already asked one, so what's a pair more?~

~Are you a she or a he, and what do I call you?~

~I am most definitely a female, and I don't have a name... We can talk about what to call me after I catch some zs.~

~Alright. Will it bug you if I get up and move around?~

~Not really... just try and be quiet...~

* * *

Walking into the house to get ready for lunch, Harry decided to start setting the table. When Perenelle walked in and rather pointedly looked at the snake that had made herself comfortable on Harry's shoulders, he quirked his head to the side, and softly said, "She's apparently my second familiar... and she is sleeping."

Perenelle quirked one elegant eyebrow at him, but she started making the Reuben sandwiches they would be eating, and Harry helped. Ten minutes later, when Nic walked in, the first thing he said, "Why does Harry have a basilisk sleeping around his neck, and why are you so calm about it, Pen?"

"The answers your questions are, in order, because it is one of Harry's familiars, and it is currently asleep."

Harry chimed in, "She."

Pen deadpanned, "Of course Harry, we must not forget that the extremely deadly snake is a her."

Taking offense at that comment, he said, "I actually think she is quite sweet." He found the blank looks that the comment put on their faces to be quite amusing, and couldn't help but laugh.

Nicolas then, quite calmly said, "He's been spending far too much time with Hagrid."

* * *

After her nap, Harry and his new familiar started talking. Well, after the basilisk and Hedwig spent a few minutes staring at each, possibly talking to each other but leaving Harry out of the loop. After about thirty minutes they both nodded in a satisfied manner, and Hedwig flew off, saying, *I found a particularly tasty patch of basil five miles east of here, I shall return... eventually...*

* * *

After about five minutes Harry was starting to get frustrated.

~Mehi?~

~No.~

~Layla?~

~Definitely not.~

~Kit? Menhit? Nefertari?~

~Nope, no, and heck no.~

Groaning, Harry threw one more name out there, ~Are you Isis?~

~Ooooh, I like that one! Yes, yes, I am most definitely an Isis, an Isis am I!~

~Now that we have a name for you, where did you come from, and how old are you?~

~Quite a ways north,~ she shook her head lightly at the memory, ~it stunk of stale smoke and bad alcohol. And I guess I'm seven or eight dozen days old... Somewhere between there, I don't really know. Don't really know much more than that. Heck, before I met you I didn't even know what kind of snake I am!~

~I think, if only for safety's sake, we do some research on basilisks and see if we need to take any precautions...~

Isis nodded, ~I don't really want to hurt anyone. Well, aside from rodents. They are really tasty!~

* * *

The next day found Harry and Isis camped out in the library with a number of books about magical serpents and reptiles. Hedwig had gone to see if she could find some rosemary growing in the wild. Harry read aloud to Isis whenever he found something of interest.

~The 'Killing Stare' of a Basilisk doesn't even begin to develop until well after two years of age. Even then it takes up to ten years age for it to be lethal to a magical human. Basilisks possess a set of, for lack of a better term, eyelids that allow them to modulate their gaze.~

As Harry was reading this, Nicolas had come into the room and was looking at Harry with his brow furrowed, "Lad, how long have you been able to talk to snakes?"

"At least a year, though I only figured out I was doing it yesterday."

"Harry, there is a lot of fear associated with that particular talent. It is called parseltongue, and it is a widespread superstition that those who speak it, parselmouths, are Dark Wizards. You have two options about how to handle this. Keep it a secret, and be careful when and where you speak it for the rest of your life. Or be open about it, and when people call it a dark talent throw out names like Paracelsus, Saint Patrick, and Asclepius. Light magic users if there ever were any, and two of them were healers. "

* * *

By Tuesday, he'd written a few letters, but with the lack of post owls at the Flamels, and his reticence to ask Hedwig to deliver them, Harry hadn't actually sent them yet. However, his thoughts were interrupted when Sirius poked his head into the room, and Padfoot had a slightly pained look on his face.

"If you didn't want to come to my place during the summer, you didn't have to ignore my letter."

"I haven't gotten your letter, Padfoot. Of course I want to come."

Blinking in surprise, Sirius sat down on the bed. "I sent it on Thursday. And I know that I am a part of the exception list on your mail rerouting..."

"God I hate fan-mail."

"Most of us don't have that problem Harry. And those who do, tend to at least read the fan-mail, not reroute it into a garbage dump. But have you gotten any letters so far this summer?"

Harry shook his head, and looked toward the phoenix that was rather studiously preening herself.

"Hedwig, would you mind making some rounds with mail? Something smells rotten in Denmark."

*Of course Harry. I assume you'll want me to wait for the replies?*

"Yes, please. No point in having you secure the delivery if the replies can get stolen."

Going over to the letters, he added a post script to each one noting the apparent theft of his mail, and gave Hedwig three letters to deliver, one for Neville, one for Hermione, and one for the twins.

Sirius clapped his hands together and said, "So with that taken care of, how about we get you packed and over to the house formerly known as Black."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry was standing across the street from a row of houses, his trunk at his feet, Isis, as they had finally decided her name would be, riding his shoulders. Sirius handed him a scrap of paper and told him to read it.

"_Marauders' Manor is located at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."_

Sirius took the paper, burned it, and then told Harry to think about what he read. And when Harry did, a house appeared from between numbers ten and fourteen.

Entering the house into a long hallway, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of the Gryffindor common room. Red was the predominate color, with gold trim and highlights, and dark woods were in abundance. Sirius then went on to give Harry the grand tour.

"Okay, on the ground floor we have two sitting rooms, one formal (carefully arranged, sumptuous furniture in muted earth tones lighter woods and off white walls, that would comfortably hold about five people) and the other most definitely not (Sirius really needed more imagination, he just copied the Gryffindor common room, less the tables and chairs used for homework and studying), a drawing room (nearly identical to the formal sitting room in style, just sized and furnished for up to two dozen or so people), two studies (with chairs and desks in style similar enough to not be out of place in the Gryffindor common room, though one was already seeing use), a large formal dining room (Harry was starting to become frustrated with whoever did the interior design, because they obviously had no imagination, take the sitting and drawing rooms and just change the furniture to suit the room's purpose, with places enough for the maximum capacity of the drawing room) I don't see us getting much use of, a much nicer informal one just off the kitchen (Harry brought his palm to his forehead and dragged his hand down across his face as the look of the room screamed, 'Gryffindor common room, if the students were allowed to take meals there') the kitchen itself (a much smaller replica of the Hogwarts Kitchens, which was currently occupied by two elves cooking), and finally a games room (Harry now barely resisted the urge to beat his head against the wall as it was once more reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room, a billiards table that could magically reconfigure itself for several different games, two dart boards, and a card table were the entertainments on offer)."

As they toured the rooms themselves, Sirius explained, "Two of the things that took the longest was that, one, I wanted to be able to say I gutted the house down to the framing, and two, the space expansion charms were reworked and this house is so much larger on the inside than the out it is a bit mind-boggling..."

The tour of the first and second floors were rather quick, as they each held six bedrooms and two baths, the only differences between them being the colors involved.

Upon reaching the third floor, they found two single and one triple occupancy potions labs, an ingredients cupboard (large enough that one had to walk into it) that most potions masters would probably give a testicle or ovary for. There were five more rooms of various sizes that were completely unfurnished with brown carpeting and taupe walls. "Now, no puttering around any of the potions labs until you have the same go-ahead from Nicolas and Perenelle... Now, I have it written down somewhere, but I know its not yet. Now, the other three doors that we haven't opened, one is a training room that you will not be allowed in until after third year. The others are a target range and sparring room, which you will only be allowed in if an adult is with you. I'll spot you if you want to get some spell work done that requires the range, and I think Remus wants to teach you a martial art... I'm not sure what one it is, I think it starts with a T. Anyway, if you are anything like your mother, you'll love the last room on this floor..."

The library was fairly large, nothing compared to the Hogwarts Library (and all that time in Azkaban must have left Sirius with a desire to return to the 'good old days' because the room also reminded him of Hermione's favorite part of the castle) and Sirius then pointed out a door leading off of the library. "You are not to open that door. Behind that door is this library's equivalent of Hogwarts's Restricted Section, and my family has books that I would burn if there wasn't the chance we would need to counter things from them. You will be given supervised access when you are of age."

On the top floor, there were four doors. Two had plaques on them already, on opposite sides of the hall from one another, the first reading 'Padfoot' and other 'Moony'. "Now the house is only configured for four suites at the moment, though we have the... space available for two more, though I don't think we'll need them. Now pick one, and we can get to personalizing after the last leg of the tour!"

Harry picked the one adjacent to Remus's rooms, and Sirius pulled a plaque out of nowhere that read 'Prongslet' and stuck it to the door. As Harry just glared at him, Sirius grinned and replied, "The name stays until we see whether or not you can be an animagi. We'll take it from there."

His suite (which was likely identical in layout and size to the others) had a pleasantly sized bedroom, a combination study/sitting room of his own, and a private bathroom.

As Sirius led the way back down to the ground floor, "This last part of the remodel I had in mind just for you. Consider it a repayment for ten years of missed birthdays, Christmases, and the like."

Grinning like a look, he opened a pair of sliding doors to reveal a lift. And the reason for it soon became apparent as soon as they cleared the ground floor. The basement had been turned into a cavernous space. The room was at least two hundred feet tall and slightly domed. The walls were painted to resemble the stands of a stadium, and ceiling was enchanted paint that mimicked the sky, and the floor was actually grass.

There was an actual, regulation size Quidditch pitch.

"Bloody hell, Sirius."

"I figured since my house was in the middle of London, my favorite seeker would need someplace to practice."

Harry just vacantly nodded and barely listened as Sirius went on to explain how it had the obstacle course he would have mortally wounded Malfoy for. It had seven different configurations, each of which could be set for seven difficulty levels. And if Harry just felt like practicing his evasion techniques, there were a number of training bludgers, which did no more harm then being hit by a pillow. Everything was spelled to avoid or minimize injuries, with the walls, floor, ceiling, and obstacles being padded with cushioning and momentum dampening spells.

Harry was still speechless when Sirius led the way back to the lift, and the Marauder asked, "What's with the snake anyway?"

"She's my familiar."

"I thought Hedwig was your familiar."

"Isis is my second familiar."

"So she is a magical snake. What kind of magical snake is she?"

"Basilisk."

Sirius blinked several times, cursed softly, and said, "She knows how to behave in a non-lethal manner doesn't she?"

"Of course she does."

"Good."

* * *

After dinner that night, Sirius motioned for Harry to stay after the table had been cleared. He had a rather somber look on his face. Harry was vaguely tempted to make some really bad puns revolving around the older man's name and animal form, but decided it would be juvenile. But he did speak first, "I have the feeling this isn't going to be a fun conversation, is it, Sirius?"

"No pup, it isn't. As you may well know, I am the last living male Black. Shortly after you were born, I had you declared my heir designate. It was the middle of the war, and I did not want what I did have going back to my family upon my death. The Blacks have been a notoriously Dark family for a couple centuries. I learned after I was released from prison that my grandfather Arcturus, the previous head of the Family, who managed to outlive every Black in the generations before mine had never banished me from the family in spite of my mother declaring that I was cast out the few times I had seen her.

"As the eldest surviving male of the name I was the Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, which was never legally stripped of by the Ministry and Wizengamot, as I was being held without trial. He did not want the family's inheritance to go to who it would default to. So that makes me Lord Black, as you will be Lord Potter on your seventeenth birthday. Follow me so far?"

Harry nodded, calmly making mental piles of information.

"And since there have been so few people to return from the high security, long term Dementor exposure of Azkaban, there is a newly discovered side effect to said exposure. I am the last living male Black, and there will likely be no more Blacks to follow after me. The settlement I got out of the ministry for consigning a major house to extinction in the male line has paid for every last thing you have seen in this house, with the exception to the majority of books in the Library, which my family already had. And there was a fair bit left over. But that left who the Black family properties, positions, titles, and magics would fall to. It is built into all of those that they can only go to men who have Black blood, and that they must be able to trace back to the Black line through at most a great-grandparent. There are only two surviving people that apply. Draco Malfoy's mother was born a Black, and I think we can both agree that the Malfoys getting it is unacceptable."

Harry again nodded, knowing that Sirius was just taking his sweet time to state a simple fact.

"Then it is a good thing that I named the grandson of my great-aunt, Dorea Potter, nee Black, as my heir."

Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Did you really have to drag it out like that?"

"Of course. It wouldn't have been as dramatic, and therefore fun, otherwise. Which brings me around the what we talked about concerning your hair at Christmas. One of the... abilities that shows up more often in the Black family and its descendants than in other families is the ability to alter their physical appearance, and those capable of it are called metamorphmagi. And on a related note, one of our cousins, and I will spare us both the insanity of trying to keep track of how far removed any of us are from the others, will be moving into the Manor next week to make it easier for her when she starts at the Auror Academy. She is also a metamorphmagus, and I've managed to bribe her into trying to teach you."

"Thanks Sirius, is there anything else you want to make overly complicated?"

"Not really. But let's see, I know I am forgetting something simple though... Oh yeah, there are two Floo connections, one in the formal sitting room that you won't need to know the address of, and Marauders' Manor is in the in informal sitting room."

Harry picked himself up, and headed out the door and toward his room, saying, "Night, Sirius."

"Night, pup."

* * *

Harry was woken up the next day by a bark, but he had stopped sleeping deeply several months ago. His hand whipped out from under his pillow while he bolted upright. In a matter of seconds there was a bang, a yip, and a crash.

"Bloody hell pup. That will teach me not to wake up someone who sleeps with their wand under their pillow... When did you start doing that anyway? I know for a fact that your holster was hanging from a bed post at Christmas. And why did you use a concussion spell anyways?"

"My paranoia was kicked up a notch in April when I went for my second lifetime round with Voldemort. And it was the first one to spring to mind."

"Ahhh."

"So why were you trying to get me up Sirius?"

"Remus came in late last night, and I was wondering if you wanted to... greet... him?"

Harry's answering grin was all the response the old dog needed. After all, Harry still had to pay Moony back for his meddling.

* * *

Remus stumbled out of bed and towards his loo. Opening the door, a bucket dropped down on his head. It was filled with treacle. He vanished as much of the substance as he could, and then looked in the mirror. His hair was purple and his skin was canary yellow with neon pink polka dots. And there were still gobs of treacle sticking to various places on his head. Especially his hair.

It was going to be a long summer.

* * *

"Why treacle, Harry?"

"Why not? But if you really must know, I like treacle. It is tasty, sticky, and a pain to clean up, even with magic."

* * *

And that kicked off a prank war that would last, on and off, for the rest of the summer. The division of combat was, during the opening days, Remus vs. Sirius, with both sides aided and abetted by Harry. Harry went to Diagon Alley after the first day, as he just had to get his hands on a camera.

He cackled as he stepped out of the store. Oh, this was going to make sure they both never did anything too drastic in the way of pranking to him. He then decided that he might as well order a racing broom to be delivered in a week. After he finished that, he took a moment to think about it, and remembered he needed to get Fred and George (much) belated birthday gifts.

Before the first true salvo of pranks flew after that opening shot, Harry got the replies from his letters. Apparently the Twins and Neville had already written to him, both with invitations to visit their homes at some point in the summer. Hermione had been waiting for Harry to send mail first, lacking an owl of her own. Harry made a mental note to go about setting up visits to his male friends.

However the first lull in the war was not too far away. Harry was a little disappointed that it didn't last longer.

He needed more blackmail material, damn it! Considering how often it happened, pictures of Sirius and Remus in various color configurations and transfigured clothing wouldn't be of much use.

In fact, the lull began on Friday, with the arrival of Tonks via the front door. The trapped front door. She was greeted by a large fresh trout that hit her square in the face. The pink haired young woman was quite upset and started casting curses at the first person in sight.

Who just happened to be Harry. Dodging and diving into cover, the young Gryffindor screamed, "Pax! It wasn't me! I was all Remus's fault. I just wanted a picture of Padfoot getting hit by a large, smelly fish!"

The metamorph made a sound like an angry cat and said, "You'll have your peace if I get the film from that camera and your help with getting Remus back."

A roll of film was soon chucked out from where Harry was hiding. "I can get something done to Remus faster than two shakes of a lamb's tail!"

* * *

After lunch the next day, Remus was staring in horror at a mirror. Every stitch of clothing he was wearing was colored lilac and there were countless red hearts with 'R.L. + S.S.' in them. But the worst thing was his hair resembled what one would think the lovechild of a greasy haired git and the elder Malfoy would have had. He saw the flash and heard the click of a camera.

Blackmail was leveled against the two Marauders, and the first battle of the prank war ended with the victory going to the new, third side of Tonks and Harry.

* * *

Settling down in one of the sitting rooms the next day, Tonks put a serious expression on her face. "Sirius said that he suspected that you are a metamorphmagus, just like little old me. It is something that is very hard to learn, because it is magic done on an instinctual level. It took me years to gain full control of it.

"There are three levels of control metamorphs may be capable of. The first level, and the one that all metamorphmagi share, regardless of how strongly they have the gift, is what is commonly referred to as protein control. It includes control over the length, shape, and density of nails; the color, consistency, and length of all hair; the shape and color of the iris of the eyes; and skin tone.

"You are going to start with the nails on your hands. You can work on those without a mirror, and so work on them at any point you have the time. All I can explain is to will them to grow longer. This part of learning control will probably take the longest. You need to learn how to access the ability. Then you can learn how to control it. We won't be moving on to see if you have the next level of control until you perfect all aspects of this level. And I won't tutor you in anything else until you demonstrate the ability to make your nails grow. More than they naturally do anyway. That is all."

She got up and left. Harry shrugged and started what he knew would likely be the long process of accessing his dormant ability.

* * *

That evening Sirius took the lot of them to a Quidditch game, Puddlemere United vs. Wimbourne Wasps. Harry was ecstatic about seeing his very first professional game, and watched raptly. He took mental notes on how the seekers played, getting a few ideas on how to improve his own style. Puddlemere won by a healthy margin, not including the snitch, but it was a hard fought game.

The next morning, Monday, Sirius tossed Harry a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, a light robe, and a pair of goggles. He then dragged Harry into the sparring room, and taught him a variation of the stinging hex that left splotches of color wherever there was a hit. Generally it was referred to as the paint-hex.

Half an hour later, both covered in a maddening amount of color, but Harry far more so than Sirius, the younger of the pair said, "Now just what was that about Sirius?"

"Have you gotten the letter your mother left for you to get last July?"

"Took until September to get it, and I couldn't stand to read it until a week or so later, but yes. And I came to the conclusion that whatever the prophecy is, it involves either me or Neville being the one to defeat the Voldemort. Or at least that is what the Dark Tosser and Dumbles believe. And one of us is going to be pressed into it. It's why I've taken to studying ahead."

"Okay then. What we just did is called a paint duel. Or as a good many muggleborns now call it, a paintball duel. It is one of the most basic instructional methods of teaching magical combat. This isn't about how most of the magical world views fighting with magic, where you trade spells against one another, shielding and countering. It is movement and volleys of magic. You and I are going to do this once a week for the rest of the summer."

* * *

At lunch, Remus asked, "Have you gone over the Potter properties Harry? Sirius spoke with me about how you plan on continually studying ahead, and I know for a fact that having access to the main property of your family will help."

In all honesty Harry had forgotten the small fact that he did indeed have access to all of his family properties. He smacked himself in the forehead. Of course, as if having mentioned this fact had summoned him, Lucky (Gringotts Secure Owl Number Thirteen) flew into the room and landed near Harry.

"Speak of the devil. Hey Lucky, how's business?", Harry asked as he pulled the letter from the owl's leg. He'd recently asked Griphook for a list, if any, of what stakes Harry had in Quidditch teams. An elf unobtrusively delivered a bowl of water and an owl treat for Lucky, and a quill, parchment, and ink for Harry. He jotted out a quick note for the owl to return with, asking for Griphook to put together whatever information he could about the properties, and to get the family portkeys for them ready. And asking for an appointment to get them face to face, and mentioned the fact that he wanted to make a first run down to one of his other inherited vaults.

The next day, he got a reply back saying that an appointment could be made for Thursday at one.

* * *

Harry was waiting outside of Griphook's office staring at his hands, willing his nails to lengthen with no effect. He'd arrived thirty minutes early, said he would be ready for whenever Griphook had time for him, and for Griphook to take his time. Griphook had then come out five minutes later, handed Harry a folder and a wooden box, and asked if there was anything else he needed besides the vault run. Shaking his head, Harry ended up poking around the vault he had wanted to visit, removing a few things, and finished his business with the bank. Harry was in and out of Gringotts, and back at Marauders' Manor, in a little over an hour.

So the rest of his day found him going over the contents of the folder and what he remembered from the journal on the family information. His family had a few smaller homes, most of which were in one form or another of stasis, and had been so for at least two centuries. The one exception was the cottage at Godric's Hollow. It was in ruins. And from the records it had been both second in age, and in the strength of the wards, of all the properties.

A write-off from that point of view, and doubly so since Harry didn't think he would ever be able to face that place.

The most important according to the journal, and first on Griphook's list, was the Potter Estate. The property had been in the family since time immemorial, and the current Manor there was five hundred years old. It was on more than a square mile of land, and was maintained by a staff of twenty house-elves. The journal of notes pointed that other journals about the history of the family, the full contents of the house and grounds, and what Harry would need to know about the family magics would all be in at the manor he would portkey into.

The box contained the family portkeys to all the properties, with directions of how to activate each one and how they could be attuned to him, and from there to any wards they were keyed into, by putting three drops of blood on them. The only one he took out was the simple silver ring that acted for the Estate. He'd attuned it and then it had automatically sized for the index finger he put it on.

He went to sleep that night, ready to go to his ancestral home the next day.

* * *

Waking up around the same time he always did, he went down to catch an early breakfast from the elves. He then wrote a very short note, saying where he had gone, and left it on the table. Running his thumb along the ring, he said, "Be it ever so humble." He felt something like a fishhook jerk at his navel, and then drag him along a whirl of light and color, all while spinning. And then he was promptly dumped on his arse.

It reminded him, vaguely, of Floo travel. Spinning past fireplaces and being spit out to land painfully on the ground. He was starting to wonder if most forms of magical travel hated him. Or maybe he just hated magical travel.

Hauling himself to his feet and cursing, he looked around. The surroundings screamed wealth, and looked like some sort of public receiving room. He heard a pop and rounded on the noise his wand coming into his hand. And he found an elderly looking male house-elf that said, "Is it Master Harry?"

All he could do was nod dumbly.

"All of us house-elves have been wondering when you would finally come. I am Darda, the Head House-Elf. Feel free to ask me anything you want to."

And Harry did, asking, "What can you tell me about the Manor itself?"

Darda began to explain as he lead Harry about. They occasionally lingered in a few areas as they neared the windows with better views, "There are three levels below ground for storage, of which only the upper two are in use. There are of course a number of parlors, sitting rooms, dining rooms, a ballroom, and other formal spaces on the ground floor. The first floor comprised of any spaces that guests might stay in, though it also includes the lowest floor of the library."

"Let's leave the library for last..."

"Of course Master Harry. On the second floor we have the family spaces and informal areas, and it is where the upper most floor of the library is accessed."

Harry idly added together that the library must have more space expansion dedicated to it than other parts of the house. He didn't notice as he started to drool slightly, and the elf must have been used to the reaction, because a handkerchief surreptitiously wiped it away without Harry noticing that either.

As his brain went back on track, Darda continued, "On the grounds there are six greenhouses, one fairly normal, one with a more tropical habitat, an arid greenhouse, a dark one, one dedicated to water plants, and the last is used to contain more dangerous flora.

"There is also an acre of formal gardens, and three acres of fruit trees and two of berry bushes. We keep about six each of horses and hippogriffs on the estate as well. Occasional members of the family have so enjoyed riding.

"Of course there is also the Quidditch Pitch. Regulation size. Now it is getting on in the day, are you hungry Master Harry?"

"I believe I could eat. Were there any journals or notes left to me to go over to start to get a hold on things?"

"Yes, Master Harry, I shall fetch them right after I inform the kitchen that you shall be staying for lunch."

The elf popped out and lunch started being set out in rather short order, before Darda returned no less than six minutes later with three plain brown leather-bound books. There was simple black lettering on the front of each of them. They were titled, _Estate_, _History_, and _Magics_.

Picking up the one on History, he opened it and a letter fell out. He read it as he ate. It gave an extremely brief history of the family, and stated that the journal was actually an Anybook linked to a shelf that contained the personal journals of all the previous Lord Potters from when they took up the title until they passed. It went on to detail just what an Anybook was. Simply it was a book enchanted to be able to access any book on the specially enchanted shelf it was linked to. And it also mentioned that with the one exception of this, the family had something far more useful than Anybooks.

He set this 'journal' aside for later, knowing that it would be a major endeavor to read. '_Magics'_ was next and another letter came out of it. It talked about how most of the older families had special spell books that contained magics created by and for the family. They were most commonly referred to as a family book of shadows. Harry's father said that while the magics protecting the Potter Family book of shadows would normally stop him from using it until after he turned seventeen, James had set it so he could use it by fourteen, with the hopes that Harry would avoid using it until at least after he finished his O.W.L.s. The Potters also kept what they referred to as a grimoire for younger members that both detailed passive family enchantments that they could make use of and a few minor tips and tricks that they would be able use effectively. That was what this book was.

Opening the book, the very first section was on the enchantments surrounding the Potter Family Library. Deciding to hold off on the magics around and about the library, he opened the estate book and looked for the more mundane information on it. Which basically repeated Darda's tour, in much more detail.

An hour later, after having reread the section twice, Harry was flabbergasted. The elves had two standing budgets of ten thousand galleons a year for newly printed books, one for each mundane and magical books. Their rare book budget was ten times that. For both worlds. The library here put a good many of the known collections to shame. In both worlds. One of the few contenders were the Grand Magical Archives in Rome and The Library at Alexandria, and the family knew they would likely never be able to match those two legends, but that would never stop them from trying. And those were only in the better collections that existed in the magical world. It was the premiere collection of the written word if the mundane world knew about it.

He then turned to the grimoire to see what enchantments the library used that made the use of Anybooks, which he thought sounded extremely useful, pointless. And he found out **exactly** why the family went to such lengths to enlarge the contents of the Library.

Most established families with large book collections made use of magically self-updating master ledgers to keep track of what they have and where it was. The most complex of these can both direct users to the books they are looking for, even if they were shelved wrong, and list the books by category. They also tended to make use of Anybooks to make handling the books easier, giving each member of the family at least their own personal Anybook and linked shelf.

The Potters took these two bits of magic to the most logical, and insane, conclusion. The library was itself a massive Anybook shelf. The magic was however far too complex and powerful for the master ledger of the system to display the actual text of the books. Instead it could be used to connect specially crafted 'linking books' to, for example, the entirety of the library's transfiguration texts.

The magics involved also had a very advanced method of searching through the books. Take the transfiguration linked book from before. If one wanted to, they could simply have it list all texts that would be in the skill level of, another example, a fourth year student.

And to top it all off, the master ledger and linking books did not even have to be in the library to work.

Harry's rational mind decided to shut down for a good half an hour after he finished reading about this. The Potter elves showed that they knew how to deal with family members that ended up in this state, because when he came to he found himself lying on a bed under a warm duvet with his shoes and belt nearby. Then he called for Darda and said, "Library, now, please."

He followed after the creature in a daze, and was led to one of the three copies of the master ledger and a shelf full of linking books.

"Darda, I think I need a bag, or a trunk, or something, please."

As the elf popped away, Harry picked up one of the ledgers, and cradled it in his arms. Soon he started to croon to it something that sounded suspiciously like 'my precious'. He only had one real plan in mind, getting the access point to all these books back to Marauders' Manor.

Darda came back and dropped the trunk at Harry's feet with a clatter, dragging him rather forcefully from his reverie. Harry quickly packed up the ledger he had been holding, three dozen blank linking books, threw the three journals he had gotten into the trunk for good measure before shrinking the trunk and pocketing,

"Darda, is there anything you think I should see to while I am here?"

"No, Master Harry, everything is fine."

"If you or any of the elves need anything, write me. You'll need to find a secure way to deliver the message, cause someone has been stealing my unsecured mail."

"Of course Master Harry."

Harry then rubbed the ring, and finished, "There's no place like home." And the portkey took him back to Marauders' Manor.

* * *

**A/N2: Needed to do something different here, and see how it works. Book 2 was originally it bit less than three-fifths the size and about a third of the chapters of Book 1, so to get fairly uniform chapters, I compiled all the previous chapters into one document, and will break into chapters when they are of a sufficient minimum length (aiming for 8~9k minimums).**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 19 and 20 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 7 AM, 22 October, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 19:**

**Word Count: 3,015 | Character Count: 16,393 | Hits: 50,930 | Reviews: 74**

**Chapter 20:**

**Word Count: 3,235 | Character Count: 17,275 | Hits: 47,624 | Reviews: 50**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 6,250 | Character Count: 33,668 | Hits: 98,554 | Reviews: 124**

**New Total Word Count: 9,108 | New Total Character Count: 49,623**


	7. The Terror of the Chamber

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: I think I'll be playing Fallout: New Vegas, though it will not likely eat as much constant time as AC: Revelations and XCOM because I've played and beaten it before... I just have a craving to use the 50 cal from it. I love that gun.**

**Also, the start of something of a buffer. This is Thursday's chapter, done before Monday's posting! And there are, as of the time of this posting, two chapters in the buffer.  
**

* * *

Chapter 7: The Terror of the Chamber

Harry spent the next couple of days either with his new favorite objects in the universe (he could often be found giggling like a mad man with his new books) or attempting to bring his metamorph abilities to the surface. Of course the peace wasn't meant to last all too long. Someone spiked dinner one night with enough hot sauce to ignite a forest. And everyone appeared to think someone else was to blame.

Harry suspected one of the elves had a sense of humor.

For what little remained of June, and the first two and a half weeks of July, the Manor remained in a state of constant war. Every scrap of clothing was eventually charmed in some embarrassing manner, no one would eat anything served in the house, and doors were opened with extreme caution. Harry still managed to get into paint duels with at least two separate residents a week and Sirius took everyone to a Quidditch match once a week. But the constant pranking was beginning to wear on Harry's last nerve. He may not have started it, but he was damn well going to finish it.

* * *

Three people came back to consciousness to the sound of an air horn. They very quickly became aware of the fact that they were apparently stuck to the ceiling. Sirius, Remus, and Tonks were all very confused about just how they had gotten there. Who had put them there was more than obvious. Harry was standing underneath them, and he had a rather irritated look on his face. He was absently petting the basilisk that was draped around his shoulders. Even though he had assured all of them that she wouldn't hurt a fly (mice on the other hand were in constant danger around her), it was still pretty damned creepy. And Harry knew that.

"Good, everyone is awake. This has carried on far too long. It was fun to start with, but I had to go out yesterday in the last of the clothes I had that would let me go into the muggle world without breaking the statute of secrecy, in order to get more clothes. Let me just repeat that for emphasis, I had to **willingly** go shopping for clothing. I cannot read for more than fifteen minutes without something exploding somewhere in the building. And the training bludgers are _still _singing off color limericks. It has been a bloody fortnight since that one was pulled off! Enough is enough. I have proven that I can get all three of you. At once. With ease. The prank war ends here and now, or the kid gloves come off. I have made arrangements to spend the week with Neville and I leave today. In fact, I am supposed to be Flooing over now. I bid you all good day, and wish you a good week. The superglue is charmed to dissolve in about fifteen minutes; the floor has a cushioning charm."

* * *

The week Harry had spent with Neville was one of the more relaxing of the summer so far. Sure, for the first two days they had mostly focused on finishing up and polishing Neville's homework, mostly to get them ready for Hermione's more... obsessive eye. She always asked to look over their homework, and neither really minded. Harry because he tended to fast and loose with his use of the Queen's English and Neville because he admitted that Hermione was much smarter than him.

Between that they spent some time catching up one what they had done so far in the summer, and also spent quite a bit of time in the Longbottom greenhouses. The time spent with someone who so obviously enjoyed caring for growing things, and outside of a classroom setting, helped Harry finally started to get over the memories of the backbreaking labor that Petunia put him through for her photo perfect garden.

The day after they had wrapped up Neville's homework, Harry introduced his friend to the paint-hex.

After the first paint duel ended, they were both laying in the grass laughing and catching their breath. It was a few minutes before Neville said, "So the entire point is to learn to get out of the way of incoming spellfire?"

Harry made an affirmative sound.

Neville was quiet for a moment before he said, "Not every spell can be shielded... and the damn prophecy aside, it's something useful to know."

Harry just grunted.

"We should continue to do this during the school year."

"Hmm."

* * *

There were a few times that Harry and Neville talked about pureblood culture, and those conversations, combined with what all the adults in his life had been teaching him about the world he had been born into, finally helped Harry get a handle on just what he had missed out on learning when he had grown up with his relatives.

The conversation about what Neville knew about advancement in the Ministry of Magic was particularly... enlightening.

"From what Gran has taught me, it really depends on who is heading the department. In some, its a cesspit of bribing, of who you know, and cronyism. And they run accordingly. I hear the Department of Magical Transportation and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures are both absolute messes.

"The best departments are meritocracies that run as well oiled machines. The DMLE under Madam Bones is probably the best example of that. Nobody really knows how the Department of Mysteries is run."

* * *

Another landmark of the week was the day when the formidable Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom invited Harry to afternoon tea.

"From Neville's letters, I know I have you to thank for at least part of his new confidence."

She took a long sip of tea before continuing, "I wasn't able to always keep an eye on the more... bullheaded members on our family, and their attempts to... scare some accidental magic out of him did not really help.

"And I am not too proud to admit, my attempts to see my lost child in my grandson did not help.

"Now with that... admission... out of way, I'm sure you would like to hear a few stories about your father. He and my Frank were quite close before Hogwarts, though because Frank was two years older, their relationship changed to be closer to that of older and younger brothers after my son left for Hogwarts..."

* * *

When the end of the week finally came, and Harry made his exit from the Longbottom ancestral home at about noon, hoping that he wouldn't find a crater where the Marauders' Manor was.

* * *

Hauling himself off the floor after being thrown out of the Floo, Harry poked his head into the dining room, figuring it was around about lunchtime. Everyone was seated around the table, just about to start lunch, and he said, "Hello residents of Marauders' Manor. Are we all still at war?"

Everyone looked at him, and they all had varying degrees of consternation on their faces. Tonks was the one who broke the silence, "Why'd you glue me to the ceiling alongside these miscreants? They were the source of most of the chaos..."

"Because, Tonks, I wanted to get the point across to everyone all at once, and besides which, or maybe I should say worst of which, you were the one that did the last batch of charms on my clothing. I was irritated."

She looked slightly shame-faced at this, and her hair turned a shade of red that was noticeably different than the one it turned than when she was angry.

Remus and Sirius shared a look, and then Remus said, "There hasn't been a prank played since you left a week ago, and everything has been put back to normal. You hungry cub?"

"Starved."

* * *

From then until Neville's birthday, things remained fairly quiet. Harry had set up linking books for all of his classes and was working through 'books equivalent to, or in supplement of, second year'. He also took an hour or so a day to fly in the basement, sometimes using the obstacle course, but mostly he spent the time dodging increasing amounts of bludgers while doing aerial acrobatics. He was up to four after him constantly by the 30th. He had continued to use Hedwig to securely deliver his mail, though continued to feel bad about it until she explained to him that she needed an excuse to fly around, and he was giving it to her. Especially since she had found a few tasty patches of thyme.

He'd also noticed something, and was finally disturbed enough when he started writing down data about it to bring the issue to Alistair.

"Al, I started keeping track of how long I was sleeping each night about two weeks ago. I had paged through my memories, and my normal amount of sleep used to be about seven hours down to a little under six when I started keeping track.

"I'm now only sleeping a little over five hours a night, and it had leveled off."

"I was wondering both if and when it would start to manifest and when you would start to notice. One of the key reasons that any organic being needs sleep is because it must rest. Different beings need different amounts of rest, and for different purposes. A wizard or witch needs rest for body, mind, and magic. Occlumency, in its use of calmly sorting through memories and peacefully examining the defenses achieves that rest for the mind, while also restoring it with magic. That leaves you only needing rest for your body and magic. A number of master Occlumens have been known to only need an hour or two of sleep a night."

"And you didn't tell me this why?"

"Didn't know whether or not you would get to the point you would need to know."

"Ahh... Now that it has leveled off..."

"It could still decrease. You haven't finished learning Occlumency and you are still a growing young man."

"Damn."

* * *

Waiting in the sitting room to use the Floo for the eleven o'clock start time of Neville's party, which was a good hour away still, so Harry was once more working on willing his fingernails to grow. And they shot forward a noticeable amount. Slipping into his mindscape and recalling the memory, he replayed it over and over again, trying to figure out just how he had managed it. He then noticed a peculiar tingling in what could only be described as his magic when he managed it.

Going back out into the world, Harry focused on calling up that tingling into his fingers and when he finally managed it, willed his fingernails to be an inch longer than normal. And he succeeded! There was pandemonium in the sitting room as he howled his head off in joy. Which of course brought everyone running, wondering what the yelling was for. And he showed them, he had finally managed it.

Everyone except for Tonks congratulated him, who asked, "It's well it good to be able to make them longer, but can you put them back?"

He still took five minutes to get to the point where he could control it, but he did manage to fix his nails without clipping them.

Tonks grinned, and then said, "Good, now for lesson the second. Be able to do that within a matter of seconds, if not completely and totally spontaneously."

Harry decided to kill the rest of the time until Neville's party by reading, deciding he'd practice speeding up the process later.

* * *

Neville's party was a small quiet affair. The twins and Hermione were there, and they generally got him gifts regarding plants and Herbology, due to the solid young man's prodigious green thumb. Harry made a mental note that he should probably get a hobby in addition to flying around like a maniac. It probably wasn't the healthiest thing he could be doing.

They spent a good portion of the party talking about their summers so far, with Harry's being one of the more eventful. In part because he regaled them with tales of the Marauders' Manor prank war. Fred and George (who were surprisingly on their best behavior) were quite amused. Fred and George were suitably vague about their experiments this summer, Hermione waxed rhapsodic about her family's yearly trip to France, and Neville was quite content to talk about his new and interesting plantings.

He kept the results of the library portion of his visit to his ancestral home to himself for now, if only for the fact he didn't have the books with them, and the magic surrounding the books made it impossible for non-Potters to use them. He had been a little upset at that point, and the book explaining the magics didn't mention any way to make exceptions. He just knew that Hermione was not going to be pleased that unfettered access to a library on par with Hogwarts's could be within arm's length but untouchable.

The last portion of the party consisted of Neville giving them a tour of Longbottom Manor and its grounds, with a particular focus on the greenhouses and gardens that Neville was so proud of. As everyone was leaving, the twins took a few moments to talk to Harry alone and say that their mother had agreed to him coming to their home for a week starting the day after his birthday.

* * *

Harry spent most of the first half of his birthday alone, practicing his metamorph abilities. He still hadn't really come to the view that his birthday was anything special, and had spent it as he spent any other day. Sadly there was only a barely noticeable increase in speed in his ability to control his talent. Dragging himself out of his room for lunch, he opened the door to the dining room and heard, "_**Surprise!**_"

He had his wand out and flicked out a stunner in the direction of the party a moment after the word was finished. Everyone hit the ground, a few people yelping in a surprise of their own.

Sirius was the first to get up and said, "Okay, new rule, no one surprises Harry in any way, shape, or form. At least he didn't use a concussion spell this time."

After the rather unexpected reaction to the party, things took a little while to get back to normal. They had cake, opened presents, and then went into one of the larger games room and played billiards, darts, exploding snap, and one game of poker that resulted in the Twins being banned from playing in the same game, having gotten catching up out of the way the day before.

Again before everyone left, they were given an extensive tour of the magically expanded building. The Twins were drooling at the indoor Quidditch Pitch, Hermione drooled at the Black Library, and Neville was in awe of the sheer amount of space, as compared to the footprint outside.

All in all the first birthday party that Harry could remember was fairly awesome.

* * *

And the next day,Harry was at the Weasley home, better known as the Burrow. The house looked like it had been built piecemeal over the years, and from the point of view of physics, it really shouldn't have been standing. He was going to be staying in the twins' room on a cot. Alistair had decided to tag along to visit two of his more favorite pranksters.

"Okay, Fred, George, I know what you told everyone you have been up to when Hermione has been present, but what have you **really** been doing this summer to keep busy?"

"It is really..."

"... quite simple, Harrykins. We've..."

"... been inventing. With..."

"... potions."

And at the mention of that, and noticing the more than prevalent burn and concussive force damage to the room, Alistair quickly morphed into an M1 helmet. They then spent the next week making some rather startling discoveries in the field of prank potions and blowing themselves up. The three found it all to be jolly good fun. Especially after Harry introduced them to the concept of ear protection.

Harry also found out that Fred's first answer to every potion's problem was to add sulfur, while George's seemed to be to add saltpeter. He quickly came to understand just why there was so much damage to their room.

At his first breakfast at the Burrow, he was 'introduced' to the youngest member of the Weasley family, Ginevra. Well it was more like a fleeting glance as once the nearly eleven year-old girl saw him, she blushed and ran from the room. When she finally came into the kitchen where the family ate, she was still blushing and didn't say anything.

Of course the twins would just have to make it worse.

"Do you want to know something Harry?" The Potter was fairly certain this was George.

"Not really," was his answer between bites of egg.

"Well tough." Other twin this time, likely Fred.

"You would be surprised to learn that our dear sister here has every copy of the 'Harry Potter Adventure Tales'!"

"And when our parents read stories to her before bed Gin-gin would settle for nothing less than one of those books!"

"Of course having met the real you, we have found out the stories are complete and utter hogswash."

Ginevra's blush reached epic levels and she stuck her elbow in the butter dish.

What really concerned Harry was that a family of predominate Gryffindors had produced a rather rabid fan. He made a note to avoid her until she (hopefully) got over it, while hoping against hope that she would be sorted into another house.

And Harry gave a shudder, he really could not abide the thought of having a stalker.

He also made a mental note to have Griphook investigate this the next time he corresponded with his all-purpose banker. If someone was making obscene amounts of money off of his name and image, he wanted to put a stop to it. He hated his fame with a passion. Besides which, he wanted his cut, and he was quite sure his banker would approve of that motivation.

The Weasleys' received their Hogwarts letters while he was there, and planned on going to the Alley the next Wednesday. Harry said he, Sirius, and maybe his guardians would be likely be going on that Monday in order to avoid the rush and the crowds. Harry, having had a bang up (or is that blow up) week, returned to the Marauders' Manor in high spirits.

* * *

That Monday, Harry and Sirius went school shopping, having written to Nicolas and Perenelle, who decided to not to venture out into magical London, with the proviso that Padfoot make sure that Harry gets new mundane clothes. However before they went shopping for school, the Marauder invited his heir into a meeting with the Black Account Manager, Ripclaw. The meeting centered around a plan that Sirius had devised that would impoverish both the Malfoys and the Lestranges.

After they sat down, Ripclaw began, "Good Morning Lord Black, Mr. Potter.

"Lord Black everything is proceeding according to the plan that was laid down. The last of the outstanding debts owed by both the Malfoy and Lestrange families has been bought up. The legal department has finished drawing up the papers dissolve both the marriages between Lucius to Narcissa and Rodolphus to Bellatrix. Both contracts are nearly identical, and so both contain a clause require each pair to produce a daughter for the House of Black within a decade. The debts will be called due as the paperwork hits the Ministry on Thursday morning.

"With the returns of the dowries, Bellatrix's and Narcissa's allowances from the Family, with interest, both families will likely be unable to make the payments. We have already arranged to make the purchases of the items you previous mentioned an interest in. The Wizengamot seats, Hogwarts Governorship, etcetera.

"Though I will ask again, are you sure you do not wish to cast Narcissa and Bellatrix from the House of Black?"

Sirius shook his head, a sad look on his face, "No, Narcissa has always been a bit of a princess, but I am a Black and she's still family. And Bella... she was never the same after her marriage to Rodolphus. And my own near disownment... No, I will be the better man."

* * *

The rest of the day shopping in the Alley was quiet and uneventful. They missed a book signing that would occur later in the week, but then again that was the point. Shopping was much easier when you don't have a crowd of witches drooling over some dandy. The disturbing thing was that whoever had written out and approved the booklist had a good many of this dandy's books on it!

Harry knew that this could not end well.

* * *

The rest of the summer passed quietly, and with a minimum of pranking. Harry had gone though a very good portion of what the linking books were saying was second year level information, and now any text he brought up was just repeating what he had read before. He decided he would keep it up for the first month or so of school, and then he would move on to third year level stuff.

He'd also finally finished learning how to control his nails in a matter of seconds. Tonks had told him, "Start working on your hair, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

He decided he'd see what books he had access to concerning metamorphmagi, because Tonks was a terrible teacher.

Soon enough he found himself to be one of the first on the platform as he had bugged Sirius to take him there early, and so he had the compartment of his choice, the last one in the last car, he settled in to wait for his friends.

* * *

Harry was calmly staring into space, idly practicing his ability to recall facts and memories without going down into his mindscape. He'd already put his school uniform on, in fact he did it at the Manor, since Sirius had planned to apparate them directly onto the platform. Alistair had asked Remus to take him to the school, so Harry was completely without companionship at the moment.

But then again, he still tended to prefer solitude. He closed his eyes and started going through what he had read in the past month from a linking book that was attuned to 'Learning Languages'. It seemed any halfway decent text in the magical world that taught a language included audio.

He enjoyed just being with his thoughts. And he really loved magic.

He continued with those mental exercises for a good fifteen minutes, before he was dragged out of his thoughts by someone entering the compartment and sitting down. Opening his eyes, he saw that a girl he didn't know, a blonde girl with a faraway look in her large gray eyes, had joined him.

She looked a little odd with radish earrings and her wand tucked behind her left ear, but he got a similar vibe he had gotten off of Neville and Hermione. He could tell that she was a bit of an outcast like them, and like him. That thought running through his head, he decided to try and be nice to her.

So, he gently asked, "First year?"

She nodded. So he held out his hand and said, "I'm Harry."

She looked at the hand and shook it. "Luna Lovegood."

He wondered briefly why she had picked this compartment, but shrugged it off, and helped her get her trunk up into the luggage rack. "Any idea about what house you might end up in?"

She shook her head.

"I'll tell you a secret. The hat will offer you a choice if you have the traits of more than one house, so you may very well get to choose."

She nodded at that.

"I may only be a second year, but if you have any questions, ask me. I'll answer if I can..."

She smiled weakly, "Thank you."

"Now, if you don't have anything you want to talk about, I'm going to do some thinking..."

"Occlumency is a very useful thing. I was taught it when I was younger, but I never progressed very far beyond the basics, though it has been rather useful."

After a quiet moment, she said one last thing, "I like your familiars."

Harry blinked for a moment, Hedwig was hiding up in the luggage and Isis was in a basket at his feet. A small voice in the back of his head said, 'How odd...'. He nodded and said, "Thank you," before slipping back into thinking about languages.

* * *

The next person to join them was Neville, and he was a little unsettled at the strange blonde who was reading an upside down magazine.

He stared for a moment, shrugged, and sat down next to Harry. "Hello, I am Neville of the House of Longbottom, whom to I have the pleasure of meeting?"

Smiling Luna replied, "Luna Lovegood."

Sitting down next to Harry, Neville hit him on the shoulder and passed him a deck of cards, which Harry started shuffling. Looking at Luna again he tilted his head at the upside down periodical asked, "What are you reading?"

"The Quibbler."

"Ahh," for a few moments he waited, and then asked her, "Would you like to play a game or two of exploding snap?"

Hermione found the three of them there twenty minutes before the train was scheduled to leave, in the middle of a game.

She flashed the blonde a smile and introduced herself, "Hermione Granger, would you mine dealing me in for the next game?"

Harry grinned and laid down his winning hand. Luna pouted and said, "But of course."

The twins popped in as the train started moving, and didn't only said in a rotating manner, "Harry."

"Nev."

"Hermione," there was a bit of surprise as they chorused, "Luna."

They went back to their twin speak, "Don't get into any trouble we wouldn't."

"We'll check in on you lot again later."

Harry wondered when the Ferret would make his appearance. He would end up waiting until half an hour before they arrived at the station.

* * *

"Hey, Scarhead!"

Harry just looked up from his (winning) hand and said, "Yes, O bastard Scion of Malfoy?"

The blond ponce blinked for several seconds before scowling angrily and pushing onward.

"I heard you spent the summer with a convict and a teacher, couldn't have been much fun."

Harry tilted his head to one side and just stared at Malfoy for a minute, and then said, "The Heir of Black wonders just how much money the Malfoy Family has left after my Lord pauperized them..."

Malfoy turned as white as a sheet, spun on his heel, and fled back up the train. Harry then proceeded to win the game.

Neville, a bit wide eyed, said, "Did your godfather really do that to the Malfoys?"

All he got from Harry for a few minutes was an evil grin. "Technically, yes. They went from having a net worth of several tens of millions down to a few hundred thousand. And all of it is liquid. They lost the manor, they lost their heirlooms, they lost everything. Sirius really wanted all of their seats on the Wizengamot, and the Black family has never taken enough of an interest in Hogwarts before to get a seat on the Board of Governors. The only reason they still have any money is that Sirius told his banker to get those no matter what.

"Given how the Malfoys tend to run through money, they stand even odds of bankrupting themselves."

Neville shook his head, "Only one of the Marauders' would play an expensive prank on the Malfoys using the banking system."

* * *

Following the crowd of students to a set of carriages, Harry wondered just what the sinister animals pulling the carriages were. He'd ask Hagrid the next time he had tea with the large man.

He climbed in with his two friends and were joined by the Twins and Lee Jordan. The ride up the the castle was quiet and peaceful, and Harry was worried because the twins were behaving themselves. They made their way up to, and then into, the Castle, and took their seats in the Great Hall at the Gryffindor Table.

And then Harry saw the ponce that was on the back of every one of their so-called defense texts. He had hoped it would just be one of the man's more rabid fans. Harry made a mental note that DADA may become the new naptime. Neville and Hermione were sitting across the table from him, but for some reason no one was taking the seats on either side of him. It could have had something to do with the snake that absolutely refused to be anywhere other than around his neck.

He watched as McGonagall (he really had to come up with some shorted form of her name to refer to her in his head at least, it was such a mouthful), led the new first years into the hall and as she set Alistair onto the stool. He only paid cursory attention as the Hat sang his little tune.

_(Sing a little song in your head_

_have it describe all the traits of the houses_

_god knows I am crap at song writing myself_

_let alone trying to rhyme_

_if I need a new song, I think I shall_

_farm it out to a fan that cares_

_now, let the sorting begin.)_

With that being done, he watched the sorting, putting names to faces, and only really concerned about two of those who were to be sorted. A fellow outcast who he would try and help no matter what house she ended up in, and a potential stalker that Harry hoped would end up in any other house but his own. Maybe some distance would help get her over her hero worship.

"Lovegood, Luna."

"**GRYFFINDOR!**"

The blonde came to the table and took the seat to Harry's left, a far away look again in her eyes.

"Weasley, Ginerva."

"**RAVENCLAW!**"

Harry made a note to thank Alistair.

Dumbledore started the feast with a few (insane) words, "Sabrage, dehisce, gowpen, brontide!"

_'And my friends call me crazy.'_

Afterward the feast had ended, the Headmaster stood up and said, "Before I must send you all to your beds, there are a few announcements. First the Forbidden Forest is just that. Mister Filch has added a number of items to his list of banned items, those who wish to know may peruse that list at their leisure in his office. And magic is not allowed in the halls. Now, to bed!"

Harry decided to accompany the first years on whatever path the fifth year prefects decided would be most (amusingly) helpful to the first years in getting to the Tower. Harry made a note to write out Luna a list of short cuts and routes. And maybe give her a few extras to maybe give her yearmates.

* * *

Getting his schedule the next day he saw that Mondays and Thursdays were loaded with classes, Tuesdays and Fridays were light days, and Wednesdays were in between. And today was a Wednesday. A free period and then...

"_**Bloody hell**_. The Great Blond Dandy is my first class."

There was little doubt to whom Harry was referring to, and so he got a mild death glare from all females within earshot. Save Luna. That raised his already high opinion of the young girl.

That didn't help as Harry endured a double period where the man first gave a test all about himself (which Hermione got perfect and Harry used as a chance to insult the ponce) and then the dandy set loose a swarm of Cornish Pixies. Everyone except Harry dove for cover. Harry raised his wand and set loose a stream of fire to crisp half a dozen pixies to get their attention, and then he blasted open a window.

"Out! Get out you little blighters, or you will end up roasted like your friends!"

They fled out the window.

* * *

That event, combined with the fact that his new familiar was a deadly snake, had everyone giving Harry a wide berth through the halls of the school. Harry didn't care, the Gryffindors' by and large didn't care about their star seeker's peculiarities, and the few Hufflepuffs he had managed to make friends with were calmed by the fact that Isis seemed so docile. He couldn't find it in himself care about what the rest of the school thought.

The rest of the first week passed, Harry only answering questions in class when Hermione couldn't, and the both of them giving Neville (and a few others) a chance to earn some points. They had decided on this path the first day, Harry out of laziness, Hermione wanting to see how good Neville was, and both out of a sense of fair play.

Potions was like always, Snape doing the absolute minimum necessary to remain on the teaching staff, and apart from DADA, the other classes were all fairly good, if the theory was a repeat of what Harry already knew. He had kept his practical work that he was ahead on to only enough attempts to get the spells right, leaving perfecting them for class.

Then the weekend rolled around.

* * *

Harry was, as always, among the first of the students to breakfast, especially on weekends. Sitting down at the Gryffindor table, Lucky landed in front of him. Griphook had informed Harry that there had never been any royalties from the use of his name and image, and that he had begun an investigation into this theft (one of the worst things you could call a goblin was a thief). And so Harry knew how seriously Goblins took theft of any scale, but at the amounts of money involved, heads would roll. Literally. And Harry (by way of his guardians) had written a letter saying that the goblins could deal with this however they saw fit.

Which meant that when whoever it was got arrested by the DMLE, they would immediately (or soon after) be turned over to the un-tender mercies of the Goblin Justice System.

It was quite important to capitalize that because it was a proper noun in Gobbledegook.

Opening the letter and reading it, Harry got an evil grin. An extremely evil grin. If anyone of the House of the Brave had seen that grin directed at them, they would run screaming, looking for the nearest, most secure hiding place.

The letter also included references to evidence that showed that the person behind the books about him was guilty of a hell of a lot more.

Griphook also forwarded the fact that the warrant for arrest would be executed on Monday, at one in the afternoon. The Prophet would be given all the relevant information and press releases in time for an evening special edition.

* * *

Wood, in all of his insanity, started the first Quidditch practice at an ungodly hour of the morning on the next day, having decided since the team was already complete, there would be no tryouts. If it hadn't been for the fact that Harry had already been awake for half an hour, he would have felt honor bound to hex his captain. As it was he wanted to try out his new Nimbus 2001 on the field in an actual practice. He had gotten plenty of use from it over the summer, but wanted to actually show off a little.

But Wood took several hours to explain tactics to a team that was by and large still asleep. Harry idly thought about stunning him and getting Madam Pomfrey to check Oliver for possessing spirits... or maybe insane gods of competition and Quidditch.

* * *

Harry was leaning back, just having finished eating Lunch. He remembered the chat he had yesterday with Hagrid about the thestral herd ("Ain't they beauts! Me pride and you don't you know, Harry."), and how only people who had seen death could see those magical creatures. He was a little miffed that Hogwarts had decided to make use of creatures that most couldn't see to provide the bulk of transportation for their students to and from the station.

Then he thought about the showmanship of it, and decided to let it slide. Though he still thought that carriages that move without apparent pulling animals is just a little bit of overkill in the that department.

He cast the occasional glance at his watch, and waited. It seemed that however much Fate hated him (and his first eleven years of life and the events of last April were good evidence), she was capable of tossing him the occasional bone.

And speaking of Bones, the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was walking into the Great Hall at the stroke of one, on the button. Flanked by two Aurors and with a third on her heels, she advanced on the Head Table. Harry wished he had popcorn... and then blinked as a bucket materialized in front of him. Damn the house elves of Hogwarts did good work.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry started munching as Bones unrolled a scroll, and stated in a voice that carried through out the Hall, "Gilderoy Lockhart, you are hereby under arrest for countless charges of gross fraud, gross theft, and gross abuse of memory charms. You will be tried for all of the crimes you have broken under wizarding law, and then turned over to the Goblin Nation for a number of charges involving theft from a most valued client."

Lockhart reached for his wand and was stunned immediately. The Aurors slapped some shackles on him and levitated him out of the castle, still stunned. Harry just watched on in amusement, eating his popcorn. You couldn't pay for entertainment like this.

The evening edition of the Prophet had told how the trial of Lockhart, given with the accused sat in a chair that shocked him whenever he told an untruth, had ended with a very quickly delivered sentence of guilty, and that he was just as quickly turned over to the Goblins. Harry got a letter next morning that Lockhart's head was adorning a pike in a chamber that the Goblin Nation kept as a warning to thieves.

* * *

School continued with a reasonable amount of peace. A week after Lockhart's arrest, disgrace, and disappearance into the Goblin Justice System, McGonagall managed to get the DMLE to loan Hogwarts another Auror for this school year. A fellow by the name of Dawlish. A really rather unimpressive and dull fellow, even if he knew things as well as any other Auror. The classes, though informative, were lackluster. Harry took to going over everything he had already learned from DADA books during these times.

However to the thanks of all students, a mass refund of the Lockhart books was organized by the school, and with cost of those 'books' was returned to the students, minus the cost of real course books.

The rest of the classes were as enjoyable as ever, with Herbology finally becoming enjoyable for Harry, thanks to his time with Neville over the summer. Moony's classes continued to be some of the most fun anyone had, especially when he started having reenactments. Harry avoided participating in those. He could do meek, unimpressive, and unnoticeable, but when it came to actual acting, he wasn't all that good.

Snape was still a git, McGonagall was stern, and Flitwick bubbly. Life went on.

The first match of the year was Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff, and much to Harry's surprise and pleasure, the badgers steamrolled right over the snakes. The random fifth year seeker for the snakes was nothing compared to the Puffs seeker, Cedric Diggory. Then followed the lead up to Halloween. _Most_ of the residents learned that Harry was not in a good mood in the lead up to that holiday.

Shortly after the match, Harry was approached by Nicolas (he enjoyed speaking with the spirit who told wonderful stories about medieval days) the Gryffindor House ghost with an invitation to his deathday party on Halloween. The look Harry shot the spirit sent him fleeing in terror.

* * *

After classes and dinner on Friday the thirtieth, Harry went down to the kitchens to arrange a basket of food that would stay fresh and last him through the day tomorrow. He told his friends he would be fine, and to just enjoy themselves. He just wanted to be alone tomorrow, and since it was a Saturday, he could do just that. Wood had even booked the pitch for practice on Sunday instead of Saturday.

And so it was Harry was enjoying the solitude to get a great big jump on third year reading focusing on all the electives, though he would not be taking Muggle Studies, when Mrs. Norris was attacked.

* * *

Harry, in a fit of premeditated laziness, refused to even open his eyes until after ten in the morning. He just didn't feel like facing the day yet. It was a Sunday, and it was the day after the anniversary of his parents' murder, and he was entitled to it once or twice a year. Of course, he would have stayed in bed longer, but Alistair could really be an annoying git.

"Harry, we need to talk. It is urgent."

The boy in mention responded from beneath a pillow, "Define urgent."

"Someone has opened Salazar Slytherin's personal section of Hogwarts and let loose a thousand year old basilisk that is probably of questionable sanity having been locked in a dank subbasement for most of its existence."

Bolting upright, he said, "Bugger."

"Indeed."

"And you need to tell me this because?"

"We, that is Hogwarts and I, are of limited power in this instance. The basilisk is part of Salazar's own personal safeguards when it comes to the protection of the school and its students, and so it is beyond any function of magic available to us to bring it to heel. He wanted his own fail-safe. But most importantly was the person Hogwarts and I most suspected of opening it fifty years ago. One Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Or better known as Lord Voldemort. Double bugger."

"Very much so. Tom was a descendant of Salazar, but he never sought recognition by the Castle nor the Goblins, and so he was extremely limited in what he was capable of in that capacity."

"So what makes the two of you so sure that it has anything to do with him this time?"

Harry then had the honor of Hogwarts herself answering the question, "**Because, I can sense an artifact of some of the most vile magics I have ever encountered roaming with my walls. It is so bound with concealment and misdirection magics that I cannot locate it exactly, or the person who is in possession of it. Its energies, however, are known to me.**"

Harry shook his head at this and said, "Those energies being of Voldemort. Shite. And I have the feeling that the 'possession' of the object is a two way street. That monster seems overly fond of magics that let him joyride in other peoples' bodies. This is not going to end well. Who's dead?"

Alistair responded now, "No one has died yet, but Mrs. Norris was petrified last night."

Harry thought for a moment, working through his store of knowledge on that particular beast, and having his own spurring his research, he said, "Reduction of power due to non-direct eye contact. Okay. Do we start telling people left, right, and center and probably cause a panic, or do we take things easy for now?"

"We don't need to take drastic action yet, but if things proceed like last time, there will be at least one death before the end of May."

"Damn. Who died last time?"

"Myrtle Martlebee. In fact she still resides in the castle. As a ghost."

"Could be useful later. And where is Salazar's personal area of the castle."

"We don't know. He was a secretive man, and he removed it, and all the functions pertaining to it, from the central wards of Hogwarts and never gave the information to me."

"Damn."

"It gets worse. There was a message left in some red substance with the cat's petrified body._ 'The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened. Enemies of the Heir Beware.'_ And given your latest familiar, people are making unkind assumptions..."

"Hell. And because I am going to be working against the force behind this, I cannot make a magically binding oath thorough enough to kill the gossip. Damn. Any other bad news?"

"Yup, all of Hagrid's roosters were killed yesterday. So an easy kill of the incredibly old mythical beast is out."

"Any _**good**_ news, Al?"

"Nope."

Harry started cursing, in several different languages. And then he, the hat, and the castle got down to planning.

* * *

Harry slumped down into the common room, with his bag over one arm. He kept his linking books in there, not that he would need them for most of the subject matter he would have to research. Looking around, and spotting his favorite yearmates, he went to sit with them. Before he had even settled, he had put up half a dozen privacy spells. He then quickly and thoroughly updated them on what he had just been told.

The first word and only one, before Alistair cut her off, out of Hermione's mouth was, "Dumbledore..."

"Has taken a watch and wait stance on this."

The look of horror at the thought that an authority figure could stand by and do nothing was unexpected. Harry had thought they had broken her of the bad habit of taking the view that authority was incapable of failure.

Harry said, "Hermione, I thought we told you that Dumbledore couldn't be trusted..."

She said softly, "Where it concerns the two of you and... Wait. Just because this concerns You-Know-Who he is willing to gamble the safety of the school?"

"Yup. And we can do nothing about it, because we need him right where he is when the war begins again."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. Neville took the chance to speak, "So what do we do, Harry?"

"I don't know. I've did a lot of reading on basilisks over the summer..."

"For good reason."

"... and one this old is probably going to be a certifiable nightmare to slay. And it _**is**_ going to have to be put down. I wouldn't be surprised if whatever Voldemort made that set this in motion has prepared fail-deadly measures for the basilisk to go on a rampage if what ever the plan he has going is sent off the rails. Hopefully I will think of something before I have to go against it."

Hermione started, "And we'll..."

Harry broke in, more than a little harshly, "Stay out of it. Neither of you are among the physically fittest of people, and while you are both above average in power, basilisk hide is inch for inch more resistant to magic than a dragon's. I've had to get Alistair to give me the theory behind weakening my spells in order to do my school work. The sad truth is, for the foreseeable future, the two of you are going to be liabilities in a fight, and Alistair and I have agreed that I need to keep my actions as below Dumbledore's radar as possible, so help from other sources is going to be non-existent. He may be oath limited to noninterference in my life, but he is old and manipulative. He may find ways around the oaths. Nothing in this castle will report a single word about me to him, but teachers and students have no such compunctions. Moreover, he is the current master of the warding magic, and so I can't bring in any back-up without him knowing."

Neville grunted angrily, but could not refute this. So he just said, "So all that leaves us with is..."

"Me."

He spent the rest of the day calling up everything he could think of about basilisks, and reading about the changes other highly magical and highly dangerous creatures would go through when reaching extreme age. His thoughts were not pretty, nor were they hopeful.

* * *

At breakfast the next day, words were written on the walls of the Great Hall in foot tall green letters. The left wall had:

"_The House of Salazar Slytherin has fallen far._

_Ambition and cunning without moderation have destroyed a once noble group._

_For both must be tempered with wisdom for actions to be effective;_

_With loyalty to ensure that friends and allies benefit as much as you;_

_With honor to ensure that the path taken is a just one."_

The right bore another message:

"_The pure that reside with the House of Snakes,_

_Are not meant to be those solely of so-called pure blood._

_It is meant to be those of pure mind and spirit,_

_Those willing to fight for what is right for the right reasons."_

Upon the wall behind the Head Table were written three lines, the first and the last in English, the middle in some language no one recognized, but it was generally believed the third line was a translation of it:

"_The Other Heir_

(_foreign text)_

_Oblivion Take The Impure."_

Breakfast was taken, for the first time in living memory, in complete silence. Apparently there were now two Heirs of Slytherin loose in the school, and only one was a Pureblood fanatic. No matter who tried, the messages could not be removed until they disappeared of their own accord, a week later.

* * *

Harry worked as he normally did, though he cut back on his working ahead, outside of what might be useful taking down an ancient monster, while he worked on the problem that faced him. He had recourse to seek some form of aid through the Charter, however nebulous and ethereal the offer was, should he be able to locate the Chamber. But that was his chief problem. He had no clue how to find it.

And so two weeks passed, with no attacks on anyone else within the castle.

Harry helped Luna with her work when she asked for it. She did not need it too often, but asked a two or three times a week anyway, which led to her yearmates also asking him for help occasionally. They spoke a number of times, and though she put on a bit of an act around most people, Harry found he liked her company, and started to view her as something on the order of a little sister. Or at least what he thought he would treat his little sister like if he had had one.

When the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw Quidditch match came around, Harry played in a daze, only half of his focus upon the match in question. He still caught the snitch after an hour and fifteen minute long match, and while the Ravenclaws were soundly thrashed, he just didn't pull off any of the fancy moves he had planned.

The next day, a first year muggleborn, that little blighter from Gryffindor who was always trying to get a picture of Harry, was found petrified in a hallway. His camera had been completely destroyed by the encounter.

Harry couldn't help but feel he was overlooking some vital piece of information that would help him. Something small but important. Sometimes he felt like he was hitting his head against a wall. And he felt that he should sometimes commit the actual act.

Maybe it would help.

* * *

The next day, a new message was sprawled across the Great Hall:

"_Salazar did not believe that first generation magicals_

_Were unworthy of ever going to Hogwarts._

_Rather he believed that there was just too much _

_To teach them in their first years._

_So he believed that there should be schools dedicated to_

_Teaching them just what they needed to know_

_Before they should enter these hallowed halls._

_Oblivion Take The Impure."_

Everyone in the castle was on edge. No one had descended into panic yet, but there was a sense of unease that rippled through the population of the school. Though no one had called him it to his face, or asked it even, the gossip network of the castle placed heavy odds on Harry being one of the Heirs. Which one, no one was willing to say.

The Weasley Twins, Gryffindor Tower's resident bookies, refused for the first time on record to take bets on something. They categorically refused citing friendship and loyalty, saying, "Honor before profit." Harry scheduled some heavy prank-work to be done alongside the twins after the crisis was over. He owed it to them.

Nobody wanted to draw attention to anyone through pranks. It just wasn't right.

* * *

Harry continued to curse the perceived hole in his knowledge of the situation. Things continued in a holding pattern through to December. As the Lions geared up for their second match, Harry was deriding himself. He should be able to do better than this. It was only due to sheer luck that no one had been killed in the two attacks so far.

He had to do something before someone died.

When the Saturday game came around, Harry was not looking well. He had been driving himself into illness in his mad working of his mind. He was circling round and round, like a Padfoot chasing his tail.

Due to this, the game carried on for four hours as Harry simply circled the field, not even paying attention to play. Slytherin was completely humiliated by the time Harry caught the snitch. Rather than attend the customary victory party, Harry trudged up into his dorm and crawled into bed. He didn't come out until Monday morning.

And so he didn't realize the panic he would be descending into. Cho Chang of Ravenclaw and the ghost of that house, The Gray Lady, had been attacked and petrified.

* * *

There was no reply from The Other Heir to this attack. People wondered if perhaps he or she only fought with words, or if words had been exchanged for action and the person was now doing something, anything, to stop the attacks.

Groups of students moved from class to class in fearful clumps. No matter what the class, the students were subdued. Practical work was done as silently as possible, and few questions were asked when notes were being taken. Harry could practically taste the fear in the air.

He had to do something, and soon.

* * *

All hell broke loose on the last day of classes before the holidays. There was one more attack. This one was on a pureblood. Daphne Greengrass was found petrified in a sixth floor girls' loo shortly before dinner. The mass exodus the next day left only a handful of students in the castle.

All of Slytherin had fled with an attack on one of their own purebloods. If one of their own could be attacked, none of them were safe. Only Draco and Ronald stayed behind, the former because it was cheaper to board for the winter and the latter because his family was visiting one of his brothers in Romania.

The other house that had left in its entirety were the Hufflepuffs. Those that could not go to their own homes for the Holidays were invited to a friend's home. No one in the House of the Loyal lacked for a place to go.

Half a dozen were left behind in the house of the wise, and all of those would only leave the known safety of their common room to get food. There was much wisdom and intelligence in discretion. And one of the six was Ginny, who was in the same position as the rest of the Weasleys.

And the House of Godric the Brave had the most who remained behind. Thirteen to be exact. Neville and Hermione were told point-blank by Harry to 'Get out of Dodge', and though they put up a fight, they left for their homes. Luna's father, and only living parent, was out of the country.

So he sat down on a couch near her and asked, "Are you absolutely sure there is no way for you to join him or is there anywhere else you can go?"

Luna looked at him in that absolutely serene way she had and said, "Everybody in the castle will be absolutely fine come the new year, Harry."

He sighed wearily and then said, "Could you please just do one thing for me then?"

She smiled at him, and said, "Of course I won't leave the Tower alone, Harry."

This sigh was in relief as he rose and said, "Thank you, Luna."

She stood as well and hugged Harry, who froze for a moment, before he returned the gesture of affection, though it was a bit wooden.

The Twins came to him shortly afterwards, and said, "If you don't think it is safe to leave the Tower alone."

"Then whenever you leave, especially with Luna, we'll go with you."

"We've also made the same offer to Prefect Percy."

"He's in the same boat as us."

The other six Gryffindors were various sixth and seventh seventh years who didn't know the phrase 'Discretion is the better part of valor'.

* * *

It was very early Christmas morning and Harry's presents lay ignored. He was pacing back and forth, and then he asked, "Alistair, did I ever ask where the message was left when the Chamber was first opened?"

"No, and it was across from a girl's toilet on the second floor. Myrtle tends to be rather fond of that loo, too. In fact... it... was... where... she..."

"Died?"

"Yup."

"That is one too many coincidences for me," Harry said, as the pieces fell into place. He promised to mentally beat himself up later for not asking an obvious question. He had work to do.

He drew himself up to his full height, squared his shoulders, and looked at the hat that was hanging from his headboard.

First he asked, "Does it have to be formal?"

"No, lad, you just have to admit it."

Taking a deep breath, he said in a small voice that betrayed his posture, "I need help."

Alistair responded in a voice clear and crisp enough to have edges, "As it is written, _'Those of Hogwarts who need help, only need but ask, and they shall receive it'_, _**So Mote It Be.**_"

A bright silver sword with a red gem encrusted handle dropped from within the Hat and onto Harry's bed.

Looking at the weapon, Harry then dressed for a fight. Clothes that, while he could move freely in them, were neither loose nor baggy. Alistair informed Harry that every person in the castle saner than The-Boy-Who-Lived were safely in their rooms, and most were also asleep. Harry picked up the weapon, stuffed Al on his head, called "Hedwig, you're with me in case I screw up royally, Isis, I don't think you have strength enough to help at this point, please hold the watch."

He grimly smiled and left the dorm.

* * *

Examining the sword in detail as he stepped from portrait hole that led from the common room, and the safety of the Tower, Harry saw that the weapon he had been given to help him had belonged originally to none other than Godric Gryffindor. Drawing his wand with his right hand from the sheath on his left wrist, Harry took the sword firmly in his left hand, and lengthened his strides. It was time to end this.

* * *

She was free. She'd finally managed to get rid of it. It had been so very, very hard. She had thrown it into a toilet, and fled. But she didn't get very far before she heard someone coming along the hallway. It was so early that no one should be up. Who could be here at this hour, and why **_here_** of all places?

She hid in an alcove, ducking behind a suit of armor. And she watched as _he_ strode past her as though on a mission, with a grim purpose on his face. And he had a **sword **of all things... He must have figured it out. He must have found out enough to know where _it_ was and he had come to kill _it_.

He stopped an tilted his head to one side as though listening to something, and she heard him mutter, "Now that's a _new voice. Wonder where this one came_ from? Could mean that Myrtle is in a mood..." He shrugged and walked into the bathroom.

But this wasn't something he could face, could he? All of the stories she had read growing up were just that. _Stories_.

Scared out of her wits for the one person who everyone knows the name of, for the hero of the wizarding world, for a twelve year old who should not have to face _it_, she fled to the first place she could think of to get him help, the Deputy Headmistress, his head of house. And so, in a flash of red hair, she ran.

* * *

Harry entered the bathroom to the wails of its resident ghost. She was bawling and yelling about someone throwing something at her. So _that's_ what he was hearing. Boy was she a loud one. But he couldn't help but shake the strangest feeling of deja vu.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Harry asked, "Myrtle, I need to speak with you please?"

"No, you don't, you just want to throw more books at me." She started crying again.

"I haven't thrown anything at you, Myrtle. I need to ask you how you died."

Her attitude turned around faster than the spiders could get their carapaces out of the castle, "It was horrible. I was in the end stall, crying because Olive Hornby had been making fun of my glasses. There were a pair of people talking in a strange language, one of them was most definitely a boy. And so I poked my head out to tell him to go find his own toilet, and then I just died."

"Do you mind if I ask... How?"

She giggled. That couldn't be good. A ghost was taking a fancy to him. He hated being Fate's whipping boy. "Oh, not at all. I don't know how. I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, poisonous yellow eyes and then I just seized up and... Here I am." She pointed toward one of the sinks. "The eyes were right over there. Now I am going to see if I can find the person who threw that book at me!" And thankfully the ghost flew off.

Harry couldn't help but appease his curiosity and look for whatever book had been ditched. Leaning the sword against a wall, and pulling the book out of the toilet bowl, he cast a quick drying charm on it. He opened it to the first page, after which he dropped the book as if it had scalded him.

_Property of:_

_T.M. Riddle_

* * *

**A/N2: I might be putting out a first chapter bunny soon because looking through what I had already written and posted with the word 'sleep' had me wondering... What if Harry had gotten fed up enough at one point to get rid of a Dursleys in a house fire when he was growing up?**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 21 through 24 (first 1/8) of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of half past 2 PM, 25 October, 1012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by **

**Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four **

**characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 21:**

**Word Count: 2,566 | Character Count: 14,025 | Hits: 46,236 | Reviews: 38**

**Chapter 22:**

**Word Count: 2,826 | Character Count: 15,453 | Hits: 44,526 | Reviews: 54**

**Chapter 23:**

**Word Count: 2,889 | Character Count: 15,592 | Hits: 42,717 | Reviews: 40**

**Chapter (portion) 24:**

**Word Count: 731 | Character Count: 3,707 | Hits: ~5814 | Reviews: ~6**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 9,012 | Character Count: 48,777 | Hits: ~139293 | Reviews: 138**

**New Total Word Count: 10,689 | New Total Character Count: 57,941**

its something useful to know


	8. The First Victories

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: Finished shortly after Chapter 6 went live! *Does a victory dance***

**As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review. **

**I've been forgetting the above line for far too long. **

**And special thanks go out to the reviewer alix33, who points out my abuses of the English language, so that I may correct them. I am also making use of the reviews given by this person from The Sorting Hat's Stand to improve the quality of the rewrite. So, a round of applause, if you would kindly. **

**Postings this week will be shifted back a day. This is (technically) Tuesday's chapter. Next chapter will be live on Friday. Last chapter that is currently written will be posted on the following Monday, but with a little under a week to get some work done, I'll hopefully stay ahead of my self-set schedule. **

* * *

Chapter 8: The First Victories

She was panting and frantic as she pounded on the door to Professor McGonagall's office. It was five minutes before the professor answered. Her mouth was set in a stern thin line, showing her irritation at the frantic pounding at her door so early in the morning, but given the events of the past two months, she was ready for whatever may have happened (heaven forbid should the worst come to pass) and seeing the absolutely panicked girl in Ravenclaw robes in front of her, she couldn't help but feel a little bit of fear.

"Now, Miss Weasley, calm down. Has there been another attack?"

The girl shook her head. She closed her eyes for a moment, in an attempt to gather her courage. "He... Harry... He's gone after... after... _it_..." She hissed the last word in such absolute fear, that McGonagall knew that she would have to go very slowly, and very carefully with the girl if she was going to get any information of use.

She just prayed it wasn't too long to help Harry, whatever that lunatic was up to.

* * *

All he could do was stare at it. Fate must really be in need of entertainment to make his life such a joke.

"In for a knut, in for a galleon." Harry stooped down and placed the diary in one of the sinks that Myrtle hadn't pointed to. If he managed to survive what came next, he would return for what might very well be the object behind this mess. And if he didn't... Well he wouldn't really have to worry about it anymore.

Though again looking on the bright side, he'd be with his mum and da.

Moving over to the sink she had indicated, he examined it until he felt an engraving on the side of one of the taps. An engraving of a snake. Jackpot.

Stepping back and focusing his mind for a moment, he spoke, ~Open.~

And the sink sank out of sight leaving a large pipe exposed. He picked up the sword, forced down his dread and fear, he muttered, "Gryffindors forward. Marching boldly into places where even angels fear to tread."

He stuffed Alistair in a pocket, sheathed his wand, and asked Hedwig to travel down to him after he hit the bottom. He then jumped into the pipe, hoping for the best while expecting the worst. That way, if he survived, he would be pleasantly surprised.

After a long time sliding down the filthy pipe, it started to turn, and he started to slow. He was thrown out of the pipe and into a pool of stagnant water. He picked himself up, drew his wand, cast a quick scourgify on himself and his clothes, and set the Hat back on his head. Hedwig appeared in a burst of blue flames above him and rather than land on his shoulder, she circled above him, singing softly in the gloom.

He advanced deeper into the Chamber. He still had a basilisk to slay. He didn't even pause as he passed a shed skin. Coming to a set of doors, he planted his feet wide, chose a spot on them a foot above the ground to lock his gaze on, and he hissed, ~Open.~

* * *

In the five minutes she had slowly been working Miss Weasley into relaxing, and then talking, Minerva McGonagall was horrified. That this girl had shown a complete lack of sense in so willingly writing in an intelligent object, she wondered how Ginevra had been sorted into Ravenclaw at all.

But that was a secondary issue, given the creator of the diary in question, compulsion charms nudging one into writing in it could not be out of the question. Lord Voldemort was indeed just that dangerous.

She shook her head, and continued the slow process of prying information out of Ginerva Weasley.

**:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:. The Second Time Fated Strands Converge: The Serpent King .:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:**

As the doors ground open, Harry heard a venomous, insane voice scream, ~Intruder! The master warned me a false scion might come, warned me to kill him! Destroy and rend him!~ It then broke off into rambling about ashwinders and how they stole its something or other.

As he though, 'Solitude, darkness, and silence does indeed drive a basilisk insane,' Hedwig doubled the strength of her singing, and Harry felt his spirits bolstered by the song.

Letting Alistair direct where he pointed his wand, using the Hat as a form of pseudo-sight, Harry thanked his mother, wherever she was. The last two dozen pages of her charms journal was filled with what he had begun to call her 'cut-and-paste' spell modifications. Almost every last single one that could be used on a combat spell required a great deal of power to pull off and be effective. This one in particular, much more than the others.

Repeating the wand motions for the spell he wanted to use six times at a deliberate pace, he muttered a long string of pseudo-Latin. As the chant ended at the same time as the sixth set of wand motions finished, he began a seventh set, pushing as much power as he could into the spell, incanting, "Conjunctivito!"

The end result was not just the simple burst of light that any targeted spell would deliver, instead this spell, specifically the Conjunctivitis Curse, came out as an ever increasing domed wall of light with the tip of his wand as the point of origin. The cost of casting a spell like this being the sheer strength needed to make it work over any distance, the time it takes to chant the alteration, and the fact that the wand motions need to be repeated six times, exactly, and end at the exact end of the chant, for it to work.

Harry was grateful that he had practiced this tactic like a man possessed, even though casting it made him feel like he had just run, all out, for a mile. Now all he could do was hope it worked.

The serpent had closed to within striking distance when it was struck full in its face by the spell. It hissed in pain and reared back, slamming its eyes in pain.

The Hat practically screamed the fact into Harry's head, _'It's blinded! Its eyes are closed! Whatever you are going to do, do it now!'_

In all honesty, Harry never expected to survive this far into the fight, and so he had no real plan. So he would just have to wing it. Knowing that magic was beyond useless at this point, he stuffed his slightly smoking wand back in its sheath, and wearily took the sword in both hands. He charged at the snake, finally getting a good look at all one hundred feet of it, complete with the red plume on its head, and swung a heavy blow at it.

It bounced off. What obviously was a magically made and enhanced sword, **bounced off**. There were days he hated his life. And he had all of half a second to throw himself out of the way before it slammed into the ground where he had been.

Bugger.

So, the entirety of the outside of the snake was covered in absolutely impenetrable hide, leaving only the few soft targets available for attack. The eyes were still instant death if they opened, so they were out, leaving only...

It was insane. Suicidal.

He didn't really have a choice.

And gods did he need a real hobby like sane people have.

Besides which, no one had ever accused him of sanity.

So, throwing all self-preservation to the wind, Harry yelled/hissed at the top of his lungs, ~Hey **ugly**! I'm right here! Come on! **Eat me!**~

All Harry got from Alistair at the initiation of this scheme was a sense of impending doom. Bah, ancient artifacts can be so touchy sometimes.

Of course, Harry got exactly what he wished for. The basilisk reared back, mouth open wide, and dived down on him. He planted his feet wide, brought the sword point up, and gripped tightly to the hilt of the blade. As the maw of the great serpent came down on him, he shoved the sword into the roof of its mouth, ignoring a sudden spike of pain in his right forearm. He twisted the blade back and forth one time to a hideous screech of pain from the beast (who had extremely horrid breath), before tearing the blade free and jumping back several times, before landing on his ass and dropping the blade.

The serpent was thrashing back and forth, and all Harry could do was watch as he slowly grew cold.

**:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:. Here the Threads of Fate Diverge .:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:**

He looked down to his forearm and saw a massive sodding fang going right through it. Ripping it out and staring at wound, he blinked dazedly at it. Basilisk venom was one of the most destructive substances known to wizard-kind. And... and... it had one, and only, theorized antidote, though... though... there was some sort of clarification that went along with it... and no one had ever gotten a chance to test it on a live subject.

The information was there on the tip of his tongue, but his mind was filling with a fog as Hedwig landed on his knee and looked at the mortal wound on his arm. He idly stroked her feathers with his left hand, even though that too was growing heavy. He tried for the life of him, literally, to remember what it was he was trying to think of. It had to do with... with... He shook his head.

"Well, it has been a rather crappy run for me, hasn't girl?"

She started crying. Now, yes, him dying was something very sad, but hey, given his life so far, he wasn't going too painfully.

"Hey, now, there is no need to cry over me. I'm sure you will find someone just as helpless as I am for you to watch over."

He watched blankly as tear after tear dropped into the wound in his forearm, and stared in wonder as the damage was repaired. Well... mostly. It was leaving one hell of a scar. And as his mind started to clear, he remembered just what it was he had been trying so hard to recall.

"_'Phoenix tears have remarkable healing capabilities, being able to heal even the most grievous of wounds.'_ Like I was trying to say Hedwig, I'd be completely helpless without you. God, that fight wiped me out. I think I am just going to sit here for a few minutes and rest."

He slipped the basilisk fang into his pocket and stared at the cooling corpse of the thousand year old monster he had just killed.

* * *

If she had been horrified by the beginning of Miss Weasley's tale, her reaction to the end, of Miss Weasley working up the courage to throw the book away and of how Harry had been acting, was a mixture of pride and outright horror. Who each emotion was directed at was a whole separate question. She couldn't help but agree that the boy was probably going to try something stupidly heroic. It was members like him that gave her house its questionable reputation. It had taken another ten minutes to get it all from the girl, and now Minerva had no time to waste. Standing up and rushing over to the fireplace...

There was a gentle knocking at her door. She made an irritated sound, and moved over to the door, ready to rip whoever it was a new one for interrupting her when she had such dire events on her hands. She swung the door open with her most stern look on her face to see...

The young man in question. He was filthy, covered in slime, filth, and blood, though for some reason Alistair sat pristinely on his head. He looked dead on his feet. He held a blood stained sword loosely in left hand, and a book in a death grip in his right. On his right forearm was a fresh, jagged lump of scar tissue.

Her faced changed instantly to relief. His went from slightly dazed and extremely exhausted to outright confusion.

"Get in here Mister Potter and sit down. I think you have a lot of explaining to do."

"I'd rather not explain until we can have someone from the DMLE here, and maybe even from the Prophet, Professor. I don't want to have to go through it more than once. Besides which, I am absolutely knackered. I came this close," He held up two fingers a hairsbreadth apart, "to dying putting that thing down. Right now I just want to sleep."

She looked him over again, and decided her description of 'dead on his feet' was an understatement. "Get going to the Hospital Wing then Mister Potter, I will Floo your guardians..."

"Nic and Pen don't have a Floo connection. If you ask Hedwig after she has had a chance to rest, she might agree to take a letter to them for you. You can try and Floo Sirius if want though. I'm sure you can get one of the elves to drag him out of bed."

"Of course, I'll also direct Professor Lupin to go the Wing. And I shall join you shortly."

He nodded weakly and walked off, wobbling a little. Hedwig went over to McGonagall's desk and stuck her leg out.

In short order, everyone had been informed and were most likely on their way, with Sirius coming out of McGonagall's Floo in his bedclothes, Ginny was being escorted back to the Ravenclaw Tower by Flitwick, who was told that he would be informed just what was going on later, and to keep it from the Headmaster for now.

* * *

Harry was sitting on a bed in the Hospital Wing ten minutes later with Madam Pomfrey clucking at him in her usual disappointment at his being injured. He covered his mouth as he had a jaw cracking yawn. And for some reason he had managed to get himself clean.

The sword leaned up against a nearby wall, Alistair set upon a nightstand, and the diary was still held in a death grip.

When McGonagall and Sirius entered, it was Al who first spoke, "Ah, Deputy Headmistress, I assume you've managed to inform at least one of Harry's guardians?"

"Yes, Alistair, I," she was interrupted as transformed Sirius barreled into Harry and started licking his face, "have. Since Mr. Potter doesn't seem to be in critical condition, they've decided that Professor Lupin and Lord Black being here is suitable. And now I'd like to talk about why Mr. Potter was so keen on getting both the DMLE and someone from the Prophet here."

"It was mostly my idea. As Harry was resting from having done something suicidally insane to kill the basilisk, I bounced ideas off of him about how best to proceed. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that full disclosure to the public was best, no matter how much of this Albus wishes to slip this under the rug."

Harry made a sound of assent, Padfoot having calmed down and laid his head on Harry's lap, "Yes, and I am willing to give testimony by pensieve, veritaserum, and magical oath to verify my side of what has happened. I do not want anyone to get the idea that I was behind all of this because of what the Prophet says."

Alistair made a noise of generalized assent, and said, "And when you inform the DMLE, tell them that the guilty party is Lord Voldemort by way of an extremely powerful Dark Object of unknown powers. That should motivate them to do everything they can to get an Unspeakable here."

"But I am **not **letting this," He waved the diary around, "Out of my possession until I've seen it destroyed."

He then started giggling and said, "I made a funny!"

McGonagall just nodded, though she also eyed him warily, knowing that tomorrow was going to be a difficult day. But that aside, she asked Madam Pomfrey, "So how is he?"

She was interrupted in answering when Remus came over to Harry and shot him an appraising look.

"Hey, Moony. Sorry to bug you at this time of the morning, but I just had to go kill a snake that was squatting in the deepest subbasement."

The aforementioned Marauder just stared blankly as a crooked grin sprang to the young man's face. Padfoot brought his head up and started at Harry with a look on his doggie face that said he plainly believed that his dogson had lost his mind. Pomfrey pushed onwards.

"Apart from being exhausted physically and magically, he has a few muscle pulls, a sprained wrist, and that lump of scar tissue, that no one is going to be able to do anything about, he is perfectly fine. Definitely in better condition than when his teammates dragged him in here after he ploughed himself into the ground during practice earlier this year. He should take the next few days easy, for the exhaustion, and I've already set everything else to rights, but otherwise there is nothing I can do apart from give him a sleeping potion, and he is not bad enough off that I am willing to knock him out for a day. I am willing to release him so that his Christmas isn't a whole bust."

Harry nodded while smiling gratefully, set Alistair on his head, and picked up the sword. McGonagall said, "I'm going to let Professor Lupin and Lord Black," she stopped speaking and glared at Padfoot until he returned to his human form, "escort you back to the Tower. Make sure you do not get into any more trouble, Mr. Potter."

Remus broke out of his daze and nodded in the affirmative.

"Of course ma'am... I hope that whoever went to you about the diary can get help. They are probably just as much a victim as anyone who was petrified."

All she could do at this statement was nod. He may have been mostly passed out when he ended up at her office, but he was still one of the more intelligent students in the school.

* * *

Harry knew he was going to spend most of Christmas in a daze. He'd locked the sword and diary away, set Alistair on the back of his headboard, and briefly considered opening his presents. He decided he'd rest for a bit and then go through them. He remembered the presents he had gotten for other people, mostly copies of texts that were in the Potter Library that he had the elves duplicate.

A rare Herbology text for Nev, something on Occlumency for Hermione (with his own notes in the margins), the twins got theory books on Potions and Charms, Luna got a book on magical creatures of questionable existence, Remus got a pair of early revisions of _Hogwarts, A History_, Sirius got a box that exploded in his face and turned his skin green and his hair silver (that would teach him not to slip laxatives in a supposed 'care package') and in the bottom was a pocket watch, and the Flamels got a set of silverware that had gold inlaid flame designs (he still had no clue about what to get the oldest living humans).

He went down into the still empty common room and passed out on the couch. Luna was the first one down an hour later, and she just sat down in a nearby chair to quietly read her new book.

* * *

Harry slowly came back to consciousness to the sound of whispering. "Fred, George, if you even think about trying anything, I'll hang both of you by your ankles from the battlements."

"Oh, Harrykins is finally..."

"... awake. Wonder what he did that..."

"... has him so knackered on Christmas?"

Harry cracked his eyes against what appeared to be midday light, and then looked around. He whipped his wand out and set up some privacy spells. He hadn't told the twins or Luna what he knew of what was going on.. The twins because the were only two years a head of him, and he had not wanted to put them in harm's way, and Luna because it would just be a weight on her she could do nothing about.

But, now that it was over, he took the time to tell the three of them what had happened. Though before he opened his mouth, the twins added a few privacy spells of their own.

He ended his tale with a whine, "I could have ended this so much sooner if I had asked an obvious question..."

The twins each thumped him upside the head and said in perfect unison, "You. Aren't. Perfect."

And it was then that he noticed someone had brought his presents down. He gave the twins the evil eye and all they did was grin roguishly. Harry checked his watch and saw it was almost eleven.

He saw that Luna was nearby, and had been apparently reading the present he had given her. She smiled brightly and said, "Open you pressies, Harry! Then let's go eat."

From Hermione he got a book on magical combat, Neville got him a dueling manual. Fred and George gave him a copy of their joke notes. He got another Weasley Christmas care package (and made a note that he really had to get Mrs. Weasley something next year). Luna got him a year's subscription to the Quibbler. Remus gave pair a set of self inking quills and stationery and from Sirius came a blue leather bound journal with one gold-embossed word on the front _'Animagus'_. And the Flamels sent him a letter and a book. The letter explained that the book they had sent him was a master library ledger that would be compatible with his linking books. It also included directions on how to compile a linking book to access two libraries.

He stared blankly at that for a moment. The Flamels had had Family magics shared with them. That meant that they (or their family, but he didn't think the near immortals had any) had been allies of the Potters for a long time. Interesting.

The rest of the day was spent with Harry alternating napping, playing card games, and of course going to meals. After lunch Lupin (who was still accompanied by Sirius) pulled Harry aside and demanded an explanation, which Harry reluctantly gave him. They didn't let the son of Prongs out of his sight for the rest of the day. Harry wasn't feeling up for much, so he mostly read and napped.

The twins had to dump Harry into his bed that night.

* * *

McGonagall came and got Harry from the tower shortly after ten in the morning. She told him,"Madam Bones is going to be coming to the Castle, and she will be accompanied by an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries. He is supposed to be an expert in Dark Magic artifacts. They have also agreed that the meeting will have a reporter from the Prophet present so that the information does not have to pass through another remove to reach the public. Lord Black apparently slept on a cot in Professor Lupin's quarters, and the two have been given leave to act in the stead of your guardians. Unfortunately we cannot keep the Headmaster from the meeting."

Harry simply nodded at this. Alistair had already carefully laid out a plan for dealing with the possible fallout from this disaster, and Harry was going to stay on script.

Of course the room they chose just happened to be meeting room seven.

Taking a seat in the room and looking around, Harry waited for Alistair to do his thing... It was his show after all.

Alistair cleared his throat, and said, in his most official voice, "I would thank all of you for coming, I have asked for this... debriefing, for lack of a better word, to bring to light the causes behind the events that started on Halloween and resulted in three students, a cat, and a ghost ending up petrified. If I may, for the Record Book of Hogwarts and the official transcript, ask everyone for their first and last name; or in the case of our D.o.M. consultant, a codename, and title, we can get started. I am Alistair, the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts."

"Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts."

"Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office."

"Shadow, Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries."

"Edward Limus, Reporter for the Daily Prophet."

"Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Basilisk Slayer, and Fate's Chew Toy."

"Remus Lupin, Acting Guardian of Harry Potter."

"Lord Sirius Orion Black III, also Acting Guardian of Harry Potter, Damn Sexy Beast, and Lord of the House of Black."

Alistair then went into a brief spiel about the Chamber, Slytherin's Basilisk, and the attacks. He then 'explained' about how Harry had 'investigated' what had been going on (in short the Hat lied through his non-existent teeth about how Harry had ended up getting into a fight with a massive serpent most of it revolved around the fact that he just happened to be a parselmouth). He included the fact that the guilty party both times the Chamber was opened was in fact Tom Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort.

Alistair then said, "I am probably the one being that Harry trusts the most at Hogwarts, and since he correctly distrusts the Headmaster, who controls all entry to and from the Castle, he could not go any farther than me for aid. So he invoked the very first line of the Hogwarts Charter: '_Those of Hogwarts who need help, only need but ask, and they shall receive it..' _So I armed him and accompanied him on his snake hunt.".

He then turned the story over to Harry, who stood up and took out his wand. "First and foremost I want to say this:

"_I, Harry James Potter, Heir to the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, hereby swear on my Magic that I had no involvement in the opening of The Chamber of Secrets, outside of any actions undertaken by myself to see that the crisis would end as soon as possible. So Mote It Be."_

With the soft flash of light that signified that the oath was in effect, Harry then cast a quick lumos to prove he still had his magic. He then used the pensieve that the castle had provided to show the memory of what had happened yesterday morning. He began it with his walking into the bathroom, and ended when he had been healed by Hedwig.

When all present save him had viewed the memory, they could only stare in silence at the twelve year old. When he finally got tired of them looking at him, he said, "If you guys don't believe it, I am willing to take truth serum or swear an oath that that is a true memory. Oh, and by the way, that basilisk corpse is mine by Right of Conquest. I'll be contracting Gringotts for the rendering of the body."

Alistair took the meeting back on course. "I believe that provides for all the relevant information, besides the one unknown of who the Diary was using. It is my firm belief that the person is as much a victim as anyone who is in the Hospital Wing petrified, and that he or she should at least see a Mind Healer. Are there any questions before we have Shadow examine the object in question?"

There was still generalized silence.

"Very good, Shadow?"

The person, who was dressed in gray robes that hid all of his body, with gloves covering his hands, and a cloak hiding the face, and magic modulating his or her voice, rose from his/her seat and said, "I have permission for Mr. Potter to be present while I examine the object, but no others."

Scrimgeour simply nodded, apparently used to the secrecy of the Unspeakables, rose and said, "I think that is all I am needed here for, apart from asking if the D.o.M. is going to ensure the destruction of the object?"

Shadow said, "Yes. The D.o.M. just wishes to identify the magics around the book to ensure its quick and effective destruction."

The Head Auror left, followed by the reporter, who had no questions.

McGonagall pointedly looked between Harry and the Unspeakable. The boy smiled, and said, "I'm sure I'll be just fine professor. Here," He took Alistair off his head. "I noted that he said nothing about Al staying, so you should take him."

Dumbledore pointedly remained in his seat, until the castle got out two syllables, "**Dumble...**" He was running out the door, wondering what the hell the castle had against him. He mentally complained about not catching any breaks recently.

Remus and Sirius had only stayed in the room long enough to watch Albus try something, and with identical grins fixed on their faces, they left, closing the door behind him.

For the next ten minutes, Harry watch as Shadow was bent over the book, casting spell after spell on it. For five minutes after he had cast his last spell, he merely contemplated the diary.

"I have never, in all my years, Mr. Potter, encountered an object so full with dark energy. This book is comprised of a number of magics, chief among them being a personality/memory imprint, not all that dissimilar from that which allows portraits to work as they do, though this is of one of the darker varieties. The imprint of the person in this book will not remain unchanging and immutable as most such would however, instead it grows progressively more twisted and evil so long as it exists. And it is far more complete than a portrait's personality would be.

"The next major portion of the magics is a soul anchor. This book has had a small portion of the creator's magical core and life energy embedded into it, and then it was made to resonate with spiritual energy of the one who made it. It is one of the more basic methods Dark Wizards use to prolong their lives.

"There would probably be some who, with lesser knowledge of the magics involved, mistake this object for another piece of even darker magic...

"Then there are two separate... hordes for lack of a better term, of lesser spells. One group makes this object near impossible to locate remotely, the other group makes the object nigh indestructible. The only thing I can think of that will destroy an object like this is Fiendfyre..."

Harry pulled the basilisk fang that had pierced his arm from his pocket. "Or how about we try stabbing it with this?"

The person under the hood directed a stare at the fang in the boy's hand. "You kept something that almost killed you?"

"Hey, it failed. So I figure it's a good luck charm. I want to see if I can get this made into a dagger. So, could it work?"

"Basilisk venom is a highly corrosive magical substance, it is worth trying."

Shadow then conjured a high-walled steel tray and placed the book in it, stepping carefully away.

Harry, his face set into a stony look of resolve, brought the fang down into the center of the diary. There was an ear rending scream as the book started... bleeding... ink. He twisted the fang a few times for good measure.

Shadow came back over, performed a few quick spells, and then said, "It's dead. I assume you are going to keep this as a trophy?"

"Nope, gonna toss it into a fire the first chance I get. Take the ashes of that fire and bury them somewhere. Good riddance to bad rubbish."

The Unspeakable chuckled and then said, "That is actually a very good plan, and close to what I would have done," and he then continued in what was a most ominous fashion, "We'll be watching you, Mr. Potter."

The person then disappeared from sight. Harry blinked at that. Well that wasn't apparation, so it probably got him or her around the school's wards. Damn that was unsettling. He left the conference room to go take a nap, the dead diary in hand. And hoped it was a long time until he ran into another Unspeakable.

* * *

The evening of the first of January found Harry absently rubbing his slightly aching right forearm. It wasn't anywhere near as stiff as it had been in the days following Christmas, but he was flubbing every one out of ten wand movements, and that extended to every couple of spells that just failed.

He'd been lucky that the worst he'd dealt with so far was a minor concussive backlash. Given that when he had first started doing spell work after he had recovered and he had been getting one out of ten correct instead of wrong, it still forced him to continue practicing the twelve basic wand movements. There was a chapter about them in their first year charms book, but Flitwick never handed out any work on that particular section of the text... Being the Head of Ravenclaw, he probably assumed everyone at least read all the material once.

So instead of working ahead, he was working on getting back to form. It was annoying. He started back on the work on his metamorph abilities that had been interrupted when he had gone all out against the danger the Chamber posed. He also started reading the Animagus journal. He'd heard the stories of his father, Padfoot, and the traitor making the transformation.

Of course, though they had never told him, he had figured out Remus was a werewolf. He was ill around the full moon, he avoided silver as though it was deadly, but for some reason he was terrified of rabbits. He assumed there was a connection with Remus's (then) three best friends taking non-human forms. He'd have to talk to Moony some point soon.

He should probably do some reading on werewolves first. Maybe he'd dedicate a linking book to it.

He'd just gotten back into the common room from 'writing' wand movements into the air in an unused classroom. He found a spell for each separate movement that when done correctly glowed green and when flubbed glowed red. And the reds were finally starting to thin out further.

Slinging himself down onto a couch, he pulled out yet another plain leather bound journal. Anyone who paid attention to what Harry read (and by and large even Hermione had stopped doing that part way through first year; Harry could probably gave their entire year in Ravenclaw a run for their money in the number of books read department) saw that he was either reading plain gray books with the Potter House coat of arms on the front cover, all of which were identical save for the words that ran along binding, or he was reading a large variety of leather bound journals.

Turning the page of this one he was reading, he made an inarticulate sound of rage. He read the new page a second time and had to restrain himself from throwing the book in the fire. He stuffed the offending journal in his bag, he pulled out his linking book that revolved around 'Wizarding Law (currently in effect)'. Boredom always helped him fight rage.

Besides, having solicitors and barristers on retainer is all well and good, but given how self-serving Purebloods tended to be, a knowledge of what loopholes they had built into the system could be helpful.

He also idly thought of how the rest of the aftermath of his trip into the Chamber had gone. He'd written to Neville and Hermione to say that it was all over and that the school was safe. Written to Nicolas and Perenelle, and they had sent a talking letter back, it wasn't quite like the Howlers that the Twins got from their mother, but it conveyed how... upset they were that he had placed himself in danger, but that they understood that he had little recourse for other actions.

But he had really enjoyed the newspaper article...

_Boy-Who-Lived Slays Basilisk_

_Makes Halls of Hogwarts Safe Once More_

He would have preferred it if the journalist had referred to him as 'Fate's Chew Toy' at one point, but hey, the story had been translated into over a dozen languages and syndicated worldwide. But hey, the front page picture was a sketch of him posing with the carcass.

Thinking of the corpse, the goblins had simply portkeyed it out of the Chamber. And in exchange for a tithe of a tithe the bones, blood, viscera, flesh, and venom, they were going to render the beast down into parts, and act as his agents, for a discounted rate, for whatever portions he would want to sell. Three percent of each sale would go to the goblins instead of the usual fifteen.

The basilisk parts were going to be in storage to start. He hadn't decided on whether or not to sell the pieces yet.

Apparently the British Wizarding World had loved him because they were terrified of what Voldemort was doing to them and the rest of the global Wizarding World loved him because if Voldemort could do what he did to his own countrymen, what would he do to the the rest of them?

So that being said, most of the Wizarding World on the planet was always a little starved for Potter news. Harry found it more than a little disturbing that he was a global celebrity.

* * *

Dumbledore was pacing his office in silence. The situation with Harry had spiraled far out of control. Not only was the boy no long safe under the blood wards of his own devising, he didn't even seem to see that the Headmaster existed. How was the young man to fulfill the prophecy if the greatest wizard alive was not there to direct him? They were doomed if he could not control Harry as he had planned. Voldemort was going to kill them all.

He was a bit proud of how Harry had resolved the situation, but it wasn't because of how he had maneuvered the boy. He couldn't have Harry be this independent, nor this willing to fight lethally. The world needed a hero of light, not gray.

Fawkes watched on as his long time friend slipped further and further from the moral high ground. The road to hell was indeed paved with good intentions.

* * *

Monday, the fourth of January saw classes begin again. Harry had eventually settled on the wand movement equivalent of enunciating. Carefully and deliberately was how he performed his spells. He really hated the fact that he would have to build his speed and fluidity back up. He also started working with his left hand, just in case his right never got back up to form.

He preferred to use his right hand, but with the number of broken bones his Uncle, and later Dudley, had given him, often focusing on his favored side and at torso level, he had often had to resort to working in school with his left. He remembered a few of his primary school teachers calling him ambidextrous. He thought it was he just got too much damned practice.

He had gone to Remus yesterday and told him point blank that he'd figured out the man's... 'furry little problem'. Which sent the Marauder into hysterical laughter, for the sheer reason that that was exactly what James had called it. Then he congratulated Harry on figuring it out so quickly and easily, and then swore him to secrecy. Harry gave Moony a look of utmost contempt. He knew perfectly well that the secret needed to remain that way.

Both Neville and Hermione noted the change in his wand work over the next week, and he told them he would be fine, and that it had been worse.

* * *

Two weeks later, Harry was sitting in the common room, staring intently at a mirror that was floating in front of him. He'd been like that, near unmoving for an hour, save for an increasingly severe scowl. No one in the House, save Neville and Hermione, had understood where the apparent vanity had come from.

Then his hair turned as white as snow. His screams of celebration were a little unnerving. And they lasted for all of a minute before he was back in the chair, staring at the mirror, a grin on his face.

An hour later his hair was changing color every other minute.

The next day, his hair was back to his normal color for the most part, but had streaks of red the same color as what he saw in pictures of his mother.

* * *

Snape was so very, very torn. He had wanted to fail a Potter at potions, but the boy's work had never been anything less than exemplary. In fact it was more often than not, perfect. And his written assignments reminded him more of his mother than his ponce of a father, who was a dunderhead at anything that didn't have to do with transfiguration or combat.

But he looked so very, very much like James that he just couldn't help but hate him, not matter how much of Lily he had in him, with regards to personality and intellect.

And then he came into Potions class, and his hair had red in it. A lot of red. Her red. If the Potter brat started to look any less like his father, Severus Snape may very well have to change his his mind, and make an opinion about the boy based on his own merits.

That thought gave the Potions Master a small chill. He hated having to change his mind.

* * *

Neville cornered Harry in the common room near the end of January.

"Harry, just how was it that the House of Black pauperized the Malfoys and the Lestranges?"

Blinking several times at this particular non sequitur, Harry explained, "It was rather easy actually. Even with all of the money they did have, they either spent it on two things, themselves or making more money. But the biggest problem with this is they tended not to be the best planners, or employ the best of planners. So when Sirius bought up all their debts, it would have equaled a good seventy to eighty percent of their net worth. Add to that fact that he annulled the marriage between Lucius and Narcissa, due to the fact that Lucy bears the loyalty brand of the one responsible for the death of a male Black, and the fact that they defaulted on one of the clauses of the contract, and it gave cause for Paddy to demand the return of the dowry, with interest. That put them in a hole that they barely managed to get out of and maintain solvency. Draco's just lucky his school trust vault is in his own name and he wasn't cast out of the House of Black."

Neville blinked at that rather twisted way of doing business, but he could vaguely understand it. "Sounds like a rather interesting and bloodless way to diminish a few Death Eaters' usefulness."

"It wouldn't have been bloodless if they hadn't have gotten their hands on the money. Goblins consider debtors to be thieves, and theft is a capital crime in the Goblin Nation. So it is a really, _really_ good rule of thumb to never borrow money from the goblins. **Ever**."

* * *

By the time the next Quidditch match rolled around, Harry had continued to improve his casting with both hands, but he had also figured out how to play with the length of his hair. He'd gotten a handle of it a few days before, and was slowly lengthening it. The longer it got, the less of a disaster it was, but he was a bit iffy on how long he actually wanted it.

Cheering on Hufflepuff as they ruthlessly beat the Ravenclaws, Harry knew that the last match of the year against the badgers was going to be fun. Of course, he had absolutely no interest in going to the next Quidditch match. Gryffindor had already beaten both the teams that were playing. Seeing the snitch and Cedric going after it, Harry idly wondered when he would finish up reading the third year material.

* * *

After a few months of careful planning, Harry and the Twins pulled off their a rather... interesting prank. They gave each professor a theme song. They had to contract out the sound recording to Padfoot, but that was a rather minor thing.

For one week, each member of the faculty was followed around by an orb. Each time the person and the orb entered a room with more than seven other people present the song would play.

As a few examples, Severus Snape had the 'The Imperial March" composed by John Williams, Minerva McGonagall had Ted Nugent's "Cat Scratch Fever", Filius Flitwick was given "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor, and Dumbledore got "They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!" by Jerry Samuels.

They were really glad that they had made Snape's nigh indestructible. Besides which, every time the greasy-haired git tried to get rid of it, it started playing again.

* * *

He blasted the thrice damned orb again. He. Was. Not. Evil. God. DAMNIT!

* * *

During the first week of March, Hermione sat down next to Harry and asked, "What are those gray books I've seen you reading?"

He had been wondering when she would finally ask after his reading seemingly identical books without end. True it had taken a few months for her to actually ask, but that was probably because the sheer amount of his reading had put the other members of the House off on asking him what he was reading, and she had learned to respect his privacy. So, after setting up a few privacy spells, he explained about the Potter Family Library. A look of awe crossed her face, but the hunger that entered her eyes was a little unnerving.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but the magics are set up so they only work for Potters. And as I am the last living Potter, they only work for me."

The crestfallen look on her face as he said this was expected, but she said, "I understand Harry, I just hope that you eventually let me take a look around the library itself."

"Eventually."

* * *

Harry was having a really difficult time getting the consistency of his hair to change in a manner that he liked. Whenever he changed it to get his hair under control, he just couldn't stand either how it looked or how it acted, and ended up changing it back.

He eventually settled on his normal, everyday uncontrollable hair, with the red streaks, but lengthened to his mid-back. He kept the majority of it tied back with a simple strip of leather, but he kept his fringe. He _really_ didn't like his scar.

Looking in the mirror and nodding he sat down to start working on his eyes. Most of the school were out watching the 'Claws and the Snakes play Quidditch, but as the game had absolutely no bearing on who won the Cup, and combined with the fact that Harry disliked one of the houses and **hated** the other, he had decided he had better things to do with his time.

* * *

Harry had just finished trapping the hell out of his current defenses. The joke traps had given way to more serious defenses, but there were still a few of the more... surreal... traps he had come up with stuck in there.

Putting Alistair on his head, he brought the hat into the inner sanctum of his mind.

"Okay Al. Confusion, chaos, distraction, and some damage. What's next?"

"Simple, pain and wounding. You've given your mind teeth and claws, now sharpen them. Do you need any tips, tricks, or pointers?"

"No, it's obvious enough... But I think I am going to need some more room..."

He shrugged and knew he was going to eventually have to redo everything. First he'd need to finish learning from Alistair, and then he'd need to actually take time to map and plan how everything would fit together. This was going to take a while... And his mind's defenses were going to be nothing short of a chaotic warzone before he untangled it.

* * *

Harry had finally finished his work on the third year as the spring holidays rolled around. He had also finally finished working on his metamorph abilities, at least for this level of control. He kept his eyes green, for the main part because he had always liked his eyes.

He had also_** finally**_ stopped flubbing wand movements during the course of normal classwork. Sure he wasn't yet back to his previous level with either hand, but he could use both hands interchangeably, which he took as some consolation.

He'd read the Animagus journal over four or five times, and had decided it would be better to hold off on it until he had at least finished working through the equivalent of fifth year. He'd then read the book again, and see if it made more sense.

* * *

On the third day of the holidays, Harry dragged himself into Remus's office. For some bloody reason both he and Sirius wanted him here. The fact that he would rather be taking a nap notwithstanding.

They were both sitting around the room, grinning like fools.

"Alright Heckle and Jeckle, just why did I have to drag my backside here so soon after lunch? It's my preferred nap time on off days..."

The two looked at each other, stared at Harry, and looked back at each other again.

Padfoot began, "Well we were planning on offering you a chance to go traveling over the summer."

Harry made a motion with his hand for them to continue.

Remus rolled his eyes and said, "Sirius here is planning on making a world tour of beaches, six continents, twenty beaches, in ten weeks."

Padfoot had a rather lecherous grin on his face when he picked up the thread of the conversation, "And Moony here is visiting a number of retreats and a few monasteries to try and get some help with his furry problem." He gave a sour look at the thought of a vacation spent this way.

Remus smacked the last male of the Blacks on the shoulder and said, "I know how you are with the Mind Arts Harry, and the places I am visiting are considered the premier centers of that particular set of disciplines."

Harry nodded, and said, "I haven't really figured out anything yet, so I'll take your offers under advisement, I'd still need to talk to Nicolas and Perenelle anyways..."

* * *

The final match of the Quidditch season, Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor, had finally rolled around. Harry had a grin plastered on his face as he walked out to the pitch, his broom slung over one shoulder, and there was only one thought going through his head.

_'This is going to be fun.'_

He gave a bow to Cedric as Madam Hooch had the Captains shake hands. Cedric grinned himself and returned the bow as Hooch continued with her statement of wanting a clean match, and told them all to kick off.

Harry spent the first five minutes of play circling the game quite a ways above of play. Finally, when the Gryffindor chasers were on the attack, he slipped into a dive right at the Hufflepuff keeper. Moments before Katie took her shot, Harry buzzed by the keeper, causing him to flinch but Bell kept on going and put the quaffle through the keeper's left hoop.

As the Hufflepuff chasers recovered the quaffle and moved down field Harry scanned the pitch for the snitch as he shadowed them down the field from below. At one point, he saw that the Hufflepuffs were preparing for one last set of passes before charging Wood.

Kicking up the speed, Harry burst up through their formation just as the chaser in the lead had just tossed the quaffle back towards his fellow behind and to his left. Having disrupted their play, the chaser missed the catch, so Angelina grabbed the quaffle and made a dash down the field.

At this point the Hufflepuff beaters were forcibly reminded of the first rule of the Beater's Bible by Cedric.

Get. The. Seeker.

The Hufflepuff team continued to fight hard, but the score slowly started to creep in the Lions' favor. The Beaters were forced to focus on Harry even more than normal, and so the Gryffindor chasers got through more often without Harry's aid. Harry even charged them a few times, blocking their line of sight in such a way that when he dodged the bludgers sent at him, they continued towards other flying members of the House of Badgers. The match continued in a manner was a vicious fought, but clean, a game.

A brutal two hours later, Harry barely beat Cedric in the chase for the snitch. Gryffindor won the Inter-House Quidditch Cup for the second year running.

* * *

For the rest of April and most of May things carried on as usual in the castle. Then of course came the madness that everyone (save Harry) called end of year exams. Harry called it exactly what he thought it was, useless insanity. The fact that he now walked all over the majority of his class and took the top spot from Hermione didn't really matter to him. He just didn't like the exams, and had to resist the urge to hex the fifth and seventh years who were having panic attacks.

There was a reason for the irritability though. Something... strange... was happening to Harry's senses. Sometimes he heard a buzzing like high-tension power wires, except he could almost hear tunes and melodies coming from it. Other times it felt like something was pressing down on his entire body, and at times he swore it would vibrate. And then there were the times that objects seemed to either be surrounded by light, or glow out right.

He even **willingly** went to Madam Pomfrey and asked to be checked over to see if anything was wrong with him. She of course found nothing. He considered the possibility that he had become schizophrenic. Sure he heard voices that didn't belong to his companions, but he had always been like that. His familiars wouldn't even talk about that course of reasoning.

* * *

When the choices for next year's elective courses came around, Harry choose Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures. He had no need for Muggle Studies because he could blend in among the British masses of the world with ease and Divination had been axed more than two and a half years ago. Neville ended up choosing Runes (being able to set up your own wards on a botanical expedition was a useful thing) and Magical Creatures (there be many dangerous beasts out where the best plants were), and Hermione, no matter how much Harry tried to talk her out of it, chose all of the electives. She really still was a nutter.

* * *

Sirius at this point in time had finally received the invoices from his seizure of the Lestrange and Malfoy fortunes. The Goblins had compiled and sorted everything, which had taken time, and Sirius did not feel like paying for a rush job. Taking one look at the sheer amount of paperwork there, he decided to leave it until after his vacation.

* * *

The Leaving Feast was eaten among Gryffindor colors for the second year running. Hufflepuff was in second place, with Slytherin a distant third followed in the end by the Ravenclaws. Harry picked at his food. Quite frankly he was bored with any gathering like this. Too many people.

He idly focused on the conversations around him. People were talking about their summer plans. He had already spoken with the only five people in this school who he wanted to know about.

Hermione: "We're going to France again of course, we've been going every year since I was nine." Harry didn't have anything against the French Wizarding World, they had fought tooth and nail against Grindelwaldand his followers to the very last. However the majority of the mundanes of that nation had rolled over. He'd only go to that country if he stayed in the wizarding world.

Neville: "Gran has been so pleased with my grades that she has finally agreed to take me to the three most respected Herbological Conservatory on the Continent."

"Congratulations, Nev. I hope you have a good time."

The Twins: "Though it won't be announced for a few months, Dad won a big prize."

"The Daily Prophet's Grand Prize Gallon Draw."

"We're going to be taking a trip to Egypt."

"Bill is a curse breaker for Gringotts, and works there."

Harry grinned at them, and said, "I'm glad you two will be raising hell where I won't be, and try not to cause an international incidents."

They just grinned and nodded in perfect disunion. Harry had turned away before they made him ill.

Luna: "Oh, Daddy and I are going out on our yearly expedition. This year we are going back to Sweden to look for Crumple Horned Snorkacks."

He wasn't quite be sure what the hell Luna and her father were looking for, but he hoped they found it. Harry did not believe that all things were known, or even knowable. Somethings had to be taken on belief. Though people out in the mundane world were finding new species of plants and animals all the time.

He smiled. This time two years ago he would have most likely be locked up alone in a cupboard. Sure there was a hell of a lot more mortal peril than there used to be, but at least he had some company between threats to life and limb.

* * *

Halfway through the train ride back to London and the four in the last compartment of the last car were reading various books and magazines, Neville suddenly said, "The one thing that no one ever figured out was who the 'Other Heir' was. He fired off a few messages about Salazar Slytherin and then disappeared."

Hermione gave one of her patented huffs, and said, "There was no way of telling."

Luna smiled serenely and said, "No, there were a few clues, Hermione, just none of them direct. There was another known parselmouth in the school, who had a juvenile basilisk as a familiar, and who was reading a thousand year old green leather bound journal like a man possessed during the two months that the attacks were occurring."

Then Neville and Hermione stared at Harry as Luna went back to reading the latest issue of the Quibbler. He was shamelessly avoiding looking at anyone at all by burying his face further in the book he was reading.

Neville shook his head and said, "Harry, you are utterly incapable of lying to anyone who you consider a friend. Even if you say nothing at all."

Giving a wry smile as he showed his face, he reached down into his bag and pulled out a green journal. "The personal diary of my ancestor, Salazar Slytherin. There are you happy? The really frustrating thing is I read this for every spare moment I had during those two months, and I finally found the sections on the Chamber, on the first sodding day of the new year, a **week** after I went up against the basilisk"

He put the book away, though he noticed Hermione eying it with interest. "You couldn't read it Hermione, it's written in parsel runes."

Her look of disappointment was almost humorous, but the four settled back into amicable silence for the rest of the ride. When they got off the train, Harry was ready to spend two weeks with his guardians before leaving with Remus for the trip.

**Here Ends Book II**

* * *

**Interlude**

Divisions and Reflections

Harry saw himself on one side of a wall of rubble with Ronald and the Golden Dandy on the other. More useless people to bring to a confrontation he could not think of. He was aware of the old man, watching, waiting, proud that he had managed to create a seemingly selfless hero. Proud of his little chess piece.

The fight with Riddle, who had been **allowed** to get this far in the use of his soul anchor, to test the resolve of Harry and his loyalty to the manipulative old man. When the phoenix showed up, it was not because of the loyalty shown, but instead because, as a creature of light, it could stand by no longer.

Harry won, but not by his own merits or abilities (or insanity), but through sheer luck. Luck of the kind that can create a dependance upon it, and lead to death and disaster. And then he let the old coot take the sword. Who in their right mind gives up a magical object of that power when it was freely given?

Harry could tell the version of himself he was seeing was going to be _used_. Like a pawn. He was going to be disposable, just like a pawn. And more over, he was being forged into something. What he couldn't tell yet.

And then he started to feel himself rise, feel himself waking up, and he was again assaulted by voices...

"... the entire garrison from the fortress..."

"... oh, thank Merlin! I was afraid..."

"... I hereby invoke the the Final Section of the Article of Last Resort. I hereby call for..."

"... under attack! Need reinforcements, Death Eaters..."

"... somethings I have told only one person. Sorry, but..."

"... call to the four winds! Shatter the..."

"... go from here. My purpose is behind..."

He rolled over and punched his pillow. This was the second damn time! What was else wrong in that head of his?

* * *

**A/N2: Rewrite methodology was semi-useful, but not sure if I am going to be using it again.**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 24 (remaining 7/8s) and 25 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 1AM, 30 October, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter (portion) 24:**

**Word Count: 5,011 | Character Count: 26,926 | Hits: 40849.375 | Reviews: 39.375**

**Chapter 25:**

**Word Count: 4,460 | Character Count: 24,385 | Hits: ****46,743**** | Reviews: 49**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 9,471 | Character Count: 51,311 | Hits: 87,592.375 | Reviews: 88.375**

**New Total Word Count: 10,466 | New Total Character Count: 56,899**

* * *

**(Hits and Reviews are recalculated at the posting of this chapter and so may not match with data previously given.)**

**Book Totals:**

**Old:**

**Word Count: 24,733 | Character Count: 133,756 | Hits: 275,237 | Reviews: 276**

**New:**

**Word Count: 30,026 | Character Count: 163,137**

**(As a benchmark FFnet's word count total these three chapters (plus author's notes) so far should be around 31k)**


	9. An Educational and Enjoyable Vacation

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review. **

**I fixed my divination derp from last chapter when I applied the corrections from alix33's review. I will just say this about my ability to keep stuff straight. I make often use of the fact that when you hold the the thumb and forefinger of your left hand perpendicular to each other it forms an L, and left starts with the letter L.**

**Yes, I am quite familiar with the phrase 'No, your other left'.**

**Also: Buffer! Mwa ha ha ha!**

* * *

**Vocal key:**

"**English"**

***Familiar Thought Speech***

**~Parseltongue~**

**'Thoughts'**

**^German^**

* * *

Chapter 9: An Educational and Enjoyable Vacation

**Being Events in Reflection of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban**

Harry was in a foul mood for the rest of that first day of the summer. The same thing that had happened last year the night after he had gotten off the Hogwarts Express had happened again! He saw an entirely different set of circumstances for what could have happened down in the Chamber of Secrets. And then there was that barrage of voices that he couldn't untangle... There were a few words, maybe a phrase that he had pried loose, but that was all.

All this apparent possible foresight he had did for him was give him some confusion. The fact that he he couldn't trust Dumbledore was reenforced from the first... dream. But then again, he already knew that.

And Alistair had decided to stay at the Castle because Harry was likely going to be out of Britain for a large portion of the summer.

"_The magic that makes me work is tethered to this Castle. Granted, the range of the enchantments covers the entire island, and even allows me to go to Ireland._

"_In fact, if I know you as well I as I think you do, you'll probably end up going along with Remus rather than Sirius. _

"_Besides which, I may have gotten my knowledge of Mind Magics from Salazar, the father of modern mind magics in Britain, but it is just that, Britain. New ideas and points of view will never hurt."_

Of course, he hadn't yet told Alistair that he had already decided he was going with Remus for the summer.

So the rest of the day of summer passed in an anti-social silence for Harry. His bad mood was made worse by the fact that he was still getting the strange flashes with his senses, but they were no where near as bad as they were at Hogwarts.

He could tell Nicolas and Perenelle wanted to talk to him about something, but they seemed to see he was in some sort of mood, and had given him some space.

He'd have to thank them for that tomorrow. And ask them if they knew anything about what was happening to him. He wasn't sure if he was going to talk about the dream though... It was just too bizarre for words.

* * *

Sitting at the table after breakfast the next day, Harry said, "Thanks for waiting to talk to me about... whatever it is you are going to talk to me about."

Perenelle smiled and said, "Well, we could tell that talking to you would be like talking to a brick wall. You really do have your mother's temperament. And that is not a compliment. Lily could be downright evil if you got her angry enough..."

Nicolas grimaced at that, and continued, "There is something that we do have to tell you, something that every magical, muggleborn or not, is informed, or reminded, of before their thirteenth birthday. We haven't told you yet because it has been a temporary non-issue."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, gave a long suffering sigh, and said, "Oh, goody. I thought I had already gotten caught up on most general information everyone is supposed to know..."

Perenelle snorted, and said, "Yes, well since you had been under blocks for part of what we have to tell you about, it becomes slightly more of an issue now that it is coming back into the area of needed information. A young witch's or wizard's magic matures steadily with four exceptions. They undergo... bursts of growth near or on their birthday at the ages of seven, eleven, thirteen, and seventeen. Because you were under the aforementioned blocks for the first two, your next one, in a little under two months time, is going to be particularly long and more than a little painful. And yours were likely to be... rough... to begin with because of your general power level."

Harry just shook his head and slumped down onto the table, "Bloody hell. I blame Dumbledore, and no one is going to convince me otherwise... Any other news?"

Nicolas shook his head (not that Harry could see it given how he was sitting), and said, "Nope. Anything you want to talk to us about?"

Harry, face still down, said, "Yes, I have something I need to ask about... It's actually about a set of things that have been... strange about my senses. I've been hearing some sort of sub-audible... humming for lack of a better term. I'd call it a buzzing, but it is almost as if I can hear a tune. Then there is the fact that I sometimes feel this strange pressure on me, and I can feel it... vibrating sometimes. And if that happens when I am hearing the humming its almost like they are in synch. And last I keep seeing lights around objects and people, sometimes even with the things glow. I've even been catching really strange scents and tasting things when I hadn't eaten for hours. It's been driving me batty."

Each of the Flamels stared at Harry in silence for a good two minutes. He had a feeling that he had just admitted to something that they understood, but did not expect. Oh, goody, this was going to be a fun conversation.

It was Nicolas who pinched the bridge of his nose this time, and he said, "Harry, you have just described, in as much detail as can usually be articulated, the early stages of both a full spectrum Mage Sense and Mage Sight. One or the other are extremely rare abilities, especially, the full field Mage Sense, but both? I can't think of anyone that has ever even admitted to having them both..."

Perenelle sighed and said, "It's a good thing you decided to go with Remus. The new ways of focusing that you will learn can help in learning to not let the Mage Sense drive you up the wall. At least, that is what the people who I've spoken to who have those particular gift had said."

Nicolas took this chance to get his own two knuts in, "And as for the Mage Sight, I know of some ways to make it a bit more controllable, or at the very least comfortable."

Harry just nodded dumbly. He had some new reading to do.

* * *

Harry spent until the fourth of June relaxing on the Flamel property, deciding that he'd try to keep his schoolwork (both his own studies in getting ahead and the assigned summer homework) until after his vacation was over. He idly tried to read about his two new... talents, but there was very little useful information about them. It abounded with general overviews and descriptions, but not much more. Most definitely no user manuals.

He then left with Remus to Marauders' Manor to get ready for the trip. Their first half of their trip would be to a compound deep in the Himalayan Mountain Range. The second would be at a combination retreat/sanctuary/commune for werewolves (and other cursed shifters) and their families and friends deep in Germany's Black Forest.

The first place they would be visiting was described as something of a cross between a monastery, a scholarly retreat, and a frat house. The only real reasons that Sirius was not coming was because there was both a dearth of available women, and that, in Padfoot's own words, "The fact is that it is only one third frat house."

It was a wizarding institution, and placed above the snow line in the Himalayas. But then again, with the place spelled like it was, they would only be cold if they went outside or opened a window, though they were warned that while the drafts in the buildings weren't cold, there were still some drafts. While it wasn't a place that catered to werewolves specifically, a few of them had found a way to curb the beast within there.

The second location was another strange combination, part wilderness retreat, part sanctuary for werewolves (and those under similar curses) in need of a place to go, and part commune. The accommodations were mostly for werewolves and the like, but there were a number of safeguards in place for family members who were not infected, but also resided there.

Part of its purpose was to serve as a place for werewolves to swap tips and tricks on how they got through their worst time of the lunar cycle. It was also a safe location for werewolves in Germany and other nearby countries to spend the full moon without endangering others. There were also a few werewolf masters of the Mind Arts who made this place their home, but most often the others just thought of them as drinking buddies.

So with that in mind, Harry and Remus went shopping for two sets of clothes, one suitable for a castle during a mild winter and the other for mother nature in the middle of summer. They then spent the next few days setting a few pranks that would go off before Sirius left for his own trip on Monday. Harry wondered just wished they would have pictures of Sirius being assaulted by a platter of biscuits.

And then, on the afternoon of Saturday the fifth, Remus introduced Harry to the cursed object that all wizards call an international portkey.

"You will not enjoy this, Harry, and it will not be over quickly."

Harry most definitely did not enjoy how Moony began this lecture.

"This a portkey (he held up about three feet of rope) set to go international distances. A portkey is an object enchanted to take whoever is touching it to a distant location. Under five-hundred miles, unless going over major bodies of water, travel time is a matter of seconds. After that travel speed falls off to about a sixteen hundred kilometers per hour, so given that it is about seventy-three hundred kilometers from here to our destination as the crow flies, we're in for nearly five hours of travel."

* * *

When they (finally) landed, Harry was praying for death to come and claim him. He had come to the decision that he absolutely hated international portkeys.

'Not enjoy this, my left buttock!'

He was also quite angry with Moony at the moment. That furry son of a poodle had completely left out that portkey travel is accompanied by an spinning sensation. ' It wasn't all that many, maybe six revolutions per minute give or take a few, but after five hours of constant spinning... it would make anyone ill! Harry would have killed Remus for not warning him... If he could have gotten up from the floor.

All he could do was say, from his oh so wonderful spot on the ground, "Moony, I do not know when, and I do not know how, but I shall have my revenge, this I swear on the name of Prongs. I shall have vengeance!"

Harry was then told his second fun fact of the day, as the werewolf looked at him as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, "Harry, I would have told you, but it didn't come to mind. Werewolves are generally immune to motion sickness."

All he could do was grumble as he was picked up and hauled off to where they were staying. He knew that he was going to get dosed with a mild sleeping potion to get over the time difference. Hopefully, he would be feeling more stable when he work up.

And then Moony would pay. Oh, would he pay!

* * *

Hauling himself into a sitting position, Harry was grateful that the world was no longer wobbling nor spinning. Checking his watch, having sett it for the correct time zone before the portkey from hell, he grinned. Remus was **never** up this early. So, he changed into something that hadn't been slept in, and started digging around his trunk for... supplies. He knew that Remus would be in a room connected to his.

He'd have to set up defenses after what he would do tonight.

After he had gotten into Moony's room, he was a little disturbed that the old wolf had not set up any spells or wards to ensure that nothing like what was going to occur to him would happen. Well, now in addition to revenge it was also just plain his fault. Marauders never sleep with anything less than one eye open. So this would be an object lesson in addition to payback.

So, after scrawling the word 'Neko' on his forehead using a permanent marker, changing his hair color to a rather vivid shade of pink with a combination of color changing and permanency charms, and transfiguring his ears to more resemble Dumbo's than anything else, Harry started in on the old wolf's clothes.

When he finally left the room, Remus's hand was stuck in a bowl of warm water. Harry had to resist the urge to cackle as he went back to his own room, and started laying down privacy, locking, and security charms on doors.

* * *

Of course, he had purposefully forgotten the silence charms, so after a while of reading some fiction (he'd started reading the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan), he had finally broken down and started on elective course work, and had started reading up on what he would be doing in Ancient Runes next year (mostly memorizing various runes, their meanings, and learning some history, which was going to make for a boring year in that class), he was pleasantly brought out of his studious concentration when Remus started yelling, screaming, and cursing. He put the book down, took the defenses around his door apart, and popped his head into the werewolf's room.

"Remus, you didn't even try to protect yourself last night. I would have only done one or two things if that was the case, but, figuratively speaking, your pants were down around your ankles and your arse was in the wind. You were asking for a response of this level."

The pink haired, elephant eared man just glowered at the twelve year old. His bed clothes had a pale purple tutu over them. He hadn't noticed the fuzzy bunny slippers yet apparently, because they hadn't been thrown into a corner and burned.

"Hey, I swore revenge, now I have had it. Oh by the way, fuzzy bunny slippers on you feet."

Harry removed himself from the room as the big bad werewolf dissolved into girlish screams of terror. This seemed to be shaping up to be a fun trip.

* * *

But then again the next few days were hell. And none of it was Moony's fault. Apparently the Mind Arts masters of this little place don't often get young prodigies of the art coming to visit. So after the three who were in residence poked around his defenses for a few hours... each... they started playing rock, paper, scissors to see who would get a crack at him first.

Unfortunately for Harry, Master Shu was the winner. And the sadist (who bore a rather bizarre resemblance to Pat Morita, and the man reveled in the fact) had very firm opinions about what must accompany training the mind.

"Now, Daniel-san, mind cannot be properly trained without body."

Harry barely had time for a voice to whisper in his head, 'This will not end well,' before one of the most trying hours of his life began.

And so that was how Harry ended up on his back in a training room on his third day there. He was seeing stars, and wondering just why Fate had sought to make his life into a combination joke/horror story. Well at least he was getting a chance to practice his Mandarin. But what Master Shu had been quite surprised about, and most pleased with, was that Harry had known how to fall correctly. It allowed him to 'get on with the fun stuff'.

And Harry still shuddered when he first let it slip that he had some training, because Shu's already insane grin reached megalomaniacal levels.

Harry already cursed his days at the Dursleys that had started that knowledge, but he was still debating whether or not Moony required more revenge for completing it with his taekwondo...

But then again, Harry was quite certain that the reason Remus had not even taken a minor shot at payback at him was that the old man felt bad for Harry. And that earned the old wolf a little goodwill he had left in his body. Then again there was also the fact that Harry felt bad for Harry. And Harry almost **never** felt bad for himself.

So, with him contemplating whether or not getting back up off the floor would do him any good, the current bane of his existence stood over him.

"Very good, Daniel-san. Get up now, lots of work to be done."

And so Harry hauled himself up, muttering a few off-color words in French, and continued to get this particular lesson pounded into him. Never let it be said that Harry Potter knew when to give up.

* * *

On Sunday, Harry was lying on his bed, contemplating the ceiling. Not that he could do much more than that. His whole body hurt. And it would heal itself overnight, and then Master Shu would make it hurt all over again. There was a lot he loved about magic, but the fact that he could take this much of a pounding added a definite bad thing to the list about how he felt about it.

And there was Remus standing at his door. Laughing. If Harry could have moved either of his arms he would have cursed the man.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball."

"Hey, you do know that you could be on a beach right now with Sirius?"

"I know. But I am learning something, and it is not the fact that I don't have to be aware of a part of my body for it to hurt."

Remus stopped his chuckling and took a seat in a chair near Harry's bed. "Do tell."

"Well, for me to even start to actively use my Occlumency, I have to relax. I've gotten to the point of not being in a meditative state to access my memories, but I still have to sit still and focus, blocking out most of the world."

Remus nodded, that was indeed how most of the intermediate Occlumens recalled information. Though he only knew this from talking with them. He'd never been able to get past the basics himself.

"What Master Shu is doing... The closest I can put it is that I am focusing without concentrating. It's not easy, and I can't hold it for longer than a few seconds, but it is happening. He isn't just teaching me how to fight unarmed, he's talking a lot about how to be clear and focused without even trying... It is almost as hard to explain as it is to actually do."

Remus just looked a little surprised by this. The man could have gotten three or four Masteries except the UK Ministry of Magic and those of most of Europe had laws against werewolves having more than N.E.W.T.s. There were a number of things that took an inordinate amount of focus when you got into the deeper ends of the various disciplines of magic.

And in the short term it would likely enhance the quality of Harry's already superb transfiguration work.

If Harry could actually achieve what he was talking about, his ability to pull highly difficult magics would put him on a level with the likes of Dumbledore, though that would only be once Harry had enough knowledge and practice to go along with the focus he would gain.

"The really upsetting thing is the three Mind Masters have divided my six weeks here solely between the three of them. And I'm with this one until Saturday, god help me."

Remus smiled sadly at Harry. He'd heard about how enthusiastic the 'Mad Monk' was, but he was really going to have to see if he could do something for Harry. He hadn't come here just to study the Magics of the Mind.

* * *

And so, while Harry spent the next week learning with the rather overzealous Mind Arts martial artist, Moony continued his routine with a slight modification. He had spent most of his time so far talking with the residents who focused on the fields he was interested in, with a few visits to each of those that focus on the Mind Arts, but now, instead of just talking shop, he asked if they there was any help that they could give a student who could sleep through classes of one of the premier magic schools of the world and still come out at the top of his class.

The result was a little overwhelming.

Most of the residents of the compound knew that Harry Potter was currently visiting. Usually the only people who were allowed to enter the halls were those with (or in the case of European Werewolves could have) at least two Masteries. But given the combination of the young man's fame, his own stellar academic records, and the fact the Mind Masters in residence wanted to spend as much time possible with him, the group as a whole had allowed him entry.

The other two Mind Arts workers had already been sternly told at the Wednesday weekly group meeting/kegger that Potter would not be driven into the ground by them. Everyone else knew that trying to rein in Master Shu was like trying to tell the tide to stop.

* * *

When Harry had finally collapsed onto his bed on the second Saturday at the compound, he was praying for someone to come and put him out of his misery. Master Shu had gotten him up on the last day the psycho had to teach him after only two hours of sleep. Even on his best day, Harry still needed a good four hours of sleep, and he had often been sleeping six because of the sheer battering this raving psychotic had been giving him.

He had then been worked physically and mentally until he had dropped, then a rejuvenation potion was poured down his throat, and it started over again. Lather, rinse, and repeat until one Potter is finally allowed to go to his room shortly after midnight.

For the first time in about a year and a half, Harry slept for a full eight hours.

* * *

With his whole body stiff, Harry wondered if the next Mind Master could be anywhere near as bad as the first.

Harry spent the rest of his day rather twitchy. He half expected to be tackled by the next person who wanted to drum as much about their beloved mind arts as they could into him in as little time as possible. Even if he had been inclined to speak with any of the Masters of other fields of study, he just wanted to give his body and mind a rest.

He hoped the next on the list would be kinder than the first.

* * *

The next morning, as Harry was listlessly eating his porridge, a very large man, wearing one of those Russian fur caps with the ear flaps... and ushanka Harry thought it was called, sat down across from him, and said in English with a thick Russian accent, "Hallo, I am Vladimir Demidenko, and for at least two hours a day for the next two weeks, you are mine."

Harry blinked. His thoughts derailed in a catastrophic train-wreck. One of the more odd voices in his mind snarked out, 'In soviet Russia mind teaches you!'

Pulling himself together, he was thankful that this one wasn't going to take every last hour of his time.

The relief must have been fairly evident on his face because the Russian said, "Ya, Shu is a madman. He doesn't often talk about the last time he taught anyone, but I once got him drunk enough on vodka that he mentioned screams of terror and fleeing like little girls. Since you are still in this hemisphere, I think you passed. Come, let us discuss what you know of Occlumency."

What followed was four hours of questions, answers, and discussion. Harry really didn't mind it at all, at least he wasn't getting his ass kicked.

* * *

Now that he actually had free time, Harry finally found himself some time to talk with some of the other Masters who were present.

The first he actually got to spend any real amount of time with were a pair of Charms Masters, Erik and Alan White, who just happened to be identical twins. Alan taught him about the basics of wandless magic.

"Contrary to popular belief, wandless magic has absolutely nothing to do with raw power. In fact, unless wandless magic is among the talents of a Mage class or above wizard it is actually made harder to accomplish, as the more powerful magic users have to work harder at fine control."

Erik on the other hand specialized, and started teaching Harry, in animation.

"Really advanced animation charms can cause large, completely solid objects, like statues, mannequins, and even furniture, to move as though they have fully articulated joints. When you start off learning with the simple variants, you'll likely be practicing on toys that already have joints. Then there are the precursors to animation charms, those charms that allow objects to move, like with the summoning or banishing spells, though these charms will make what you cast them on act in prescribed ways, like a knife chopping vegetables, a ladle serving something, or making the targets on a range move."

He spent about a week working with them, and they added a few other things to his stockpile of useful tricks. One of the most useful was using focus and visualization to slightly alter a spell without changing its incantion, and the used the very simple _lumos_ as an example, "Instead of just imagining a light... give it a color. And experiment from there."

That is not to say they also didn't work on refining and advancing the rest of his charms portfolio.

The time he spent with Vlad over the next fortnight was mostly spent discussing some of the most advanced implementations of mental defenses.

One lesson was on mental sentinels, "Now, when next you work on your defenses, visualize an additional fragment of your mind that functions automatically, like your heart, or how you breathe when asleep, or, or blinking. And then build some manner of protector or defender."

Another focused on a concept that Alistair had never really presented to Harry, but that he had made heavy use of anyway, "Defenses work best if they have some form of grounding in the real world. Using warding and enchanting only really works when you have a grounding in them, which means that you will need an advanced understanding of Runes, Charms, and some Arithmancy. Another use of the same is adding spacial expansion to your defenses."

Harry knew pretty damn well that he was years away from doing the more complicated of that crap, though he could get started on the basics of it.

For the second week of his time with the Russian, Harry spent his time away from the man with some of the Potions Masters and Mistresses. He was allowed to observe and was often given explanations on why they did what they did, but only when they were at lulls in their brewing. So scraps of notes were taken hear and there, figures for stirring patterns, sketches of the outcomes of different ingredient preparations, all of it eventually started to add up, to the tune of about one hundred pages of notes that Snape would likely kill for.

It also gave him an idea, and he was eventually going to see how effective charming a set of stirring rods would be.

With the end of the second fortnight, Harry had finally found some real enjoyment over the past few weeks. He still fled from Master Shu whenever he saw the man though.

* * *

The next, and final for this leg of the vacation, master was an Australian who was also a Transfiguration Mistress, Norma Dean.

She started by leading Harry through a number of meditation exercises in an attempt to get him to enter a far deeper meditative state than he had managed before. There were three in particular that she wanted him to use frequently. And if he was right in his suspicions, they were each meant to access something different.

They spent each of the first three days teaching him a different exercise.

Day One: "First, I want you to empty your mind as much as you can. Let the bulk of your conscious thoughts just drift away, and focus on your heartbeat. Let the sound of it fill you, listen to it beat, and to the silence between the beats. And let your mind expand, and let the time you perceive between the beats grow, even as your heart rate remains steady. Let your awareness of the life within you increase..."

Day Two: "Now, I would like you to let your mind drift, nearer and nearer to sleep. Let your thoughts haze while trying to keep your awareness of them sharp. Try and see the broad boarder between the waking and dreaming worlds. And just as you begin to dream, follow them down to their source..."

Day Three: "Begin by drawing up some of your magic and holding it as though you were preparing to cast a spell. Slowly clear away your thoughts, and focus on how your magic feels. The color of it, how brightly it shines. Does it give of a sound, or is it as silent as the night? Let the warmth of it seep into you, and feel the energy of it bleed into your nerves. And once you know all of that, and have it locked into your mind, follow the magic back to where it originates from within you."

And after the first time they tried the meditative exercise on the third day, Norma went into a short lecture. "While if you asked fifty different scholars where they thought the ultimate origin of magic was, you would get fifty different answers, the spells we cast draw magic from that which we carry within ourselves. While it is complete fallacy that we have a physical magical core that sets us apart from ordinary humans, it does not mean that there is a non-physical center of magical energy in each and every magic user that could still be called a magical core."

He found it exceptionally hard to clear his focus to the needed levels for any of the new meditative exercises, though this was mainly because his Mage Sense would just not shut up, even though he had eventually found a spell that had been originally meant to passively counter spells that provided Mage Sense or Sight. He had repurposed it in an attempt to drown out his new magical senses, and it had helped. But it obviously wasn't enough.

Between attempts at meditation, Norma had first tested Harry on all of his current knowledge in Transfiguration. By the time the third day rolled around, she started having him go through a few exercises to get him acclimated to attempting transfiguration on moving objects.

She had three rubber balls in her hands as she said, "We'll start simply. I will gently toss one of these at you while saying the name of a shape. You will transfigure the ball into that shape before it hits you or the ground. As you become more adept at this, you will move on to different general materials, like stone, metal, wood, and so forth. After that you should move on to different patterns and combinations, like one thirds lead, steel, and tin, or half ash and oak, or alternating bands of granite and marble."

She also worked on the very basic rudiments on conjuration with him, "Conjuration is an imperfect opposite of another function of transfiguration, vanishing. Vanishing does what it says, but vanished mass does not truly disappear. There is a skein of material just to the side of reality as we know it. Nothing really exists there, but it is everywhere at once. Conjuration occurs by drawing off some of this material. Most conjurations are not made to last be some are.

"I'll start by teaching you one of the simplest conjuration spells, one that creates a half kilo or less of wood that lasts about twenty minutes. I'd like you practice on getting exactly the amount of wood I ask you to, in precisely the shape I describe."

There was one question she asked him that brought the broader use of what she had been focusing on into view, "Now, think for a few minutes, and tell me, just why am I focusing on what I am?"

He did, and it eventually came down to one word, "Visualization. The better I can visualize my result the more effective my transfiguration is. And everything you have been teaching me has had the side effect of forcing me to refine that component of my spell casting."

She smiled slightly, nodded, and said, "Exactly."

* * *

He finally made a breakthrough at the beginning of his last week, his second studying under Ms. Dean, by embracing the sensations given to him by his Mage Sense instead of trying, fruitlessly, to block them all out. After two days of spending more than five hours a day in the deep meditation, he stumbled upon something that could only be called a maelstrom of energy and light hidden away inside of him.

His eyes opened with a gasp, and he fell over, out of the chair he had been sitting in, and Norma was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "I see that you finally found your magical core, Harry. Usually when someone is advanced as you seem to be, they get it in a three or four days, you took almost nine. Any reason for that?"

"I was attempting to shut out my Mage Sense instead of embrace it... It was too distracting trying to ignore it."

She nodded. "So, can you describe your core? Shapes, colors, arrangements of energies, perhaps any elemental overtones?"

He closed his eyes and tried to remember what he saw and felt. "Shades of green, mostly the color of emeralds, with bright, burnished, glowing golds. And... it was chaotic, there was almost no order that could be seen at first glance. And it was all in a huge... vortex. And it was massive. That is the only way I can begin to describe it. And there was maybe a hint of wind"

She nodded and then said, "Well then I can tell you a good thing, though you probably already know it, and a bad thing. The good thing is that from what you describe, you are probably already fairly powerful, and you haven't stopped growing yet. But as I said, you probably already knew. The bad news is that, like Alan White has likely told you, only the more ordered of magical cores are capable of great deals of wandless magic, so the farthest you are likely to get on that particular front is basic spells in general, maybe some more advanced movement spells, hovering, summoning, banishing, remote manipulation, things like that. Everything else will just end up with you blowing your eyebrows off. Your core is both too chaotic and just too strong for anything else to happen. And if you ever start studying elemental magic, you'll know where to start, instead of just stumbling around in the dark."

Since the beginning of the last week, he had spent less time with Norma because she had covered what she had wanted to in transfiguration, so instead he had been spending that time in the basements of the complex, where a number of highly advanced charms and enchantments made for the perfect greenhouses, comprising a number of different environments.

The Potter Manor had five different environmental greenhouses, and one highly compartmentalized greenhouse for safety measures. This place had two dozen different environments (some of the differences were subtle, and there were a few that were repeated due to the number of plants) and six more greenhouses that kept different dangerous specimens secure and separate in an environment optimal for their growth.

Neville would have given his left arm to visit this place.

He took notes on all of the plants present, planning on giving a copy of the notes as a birthday present to Neville. There was magical flora from all over the world, and as a parting gift, the Herbologists gave him a chest with a number of seeds, seedlings, and cuttings held in stasis.

He'd have to see if they could thrive in his own greenhouses before he gave samples to Neville.

Norma then spent the last few days of the time they had working on teaching Harry how to work with his core. It wasn't particularly complicated, it was just a focus intensive and slow process.

"You are capable, to some extent, of reordering your core. I'm not entirely sure how one would go about this, as I have never really had a need to. My own core has always been quite ordered. Another visualization exercise you should get in the habit of is imagine as the like between your core and the spell you cast as being something that you can vary, like a valve. And then try and increase, or decrease, the amount of power you put into your spellwork."

The thought of putting even more power into his spells scared him a little.

* * *

It was the night before they would be leaving for the Werewolf Retreat, and Harry was wandering the corridors of the compound. He hadn't been outside in six weeks, and he hadn't seen the sun in days. It was nearing midnight, and most of him just wanted to go to bed, but there was a part that was restless at the international portkey that he would be taking the next day.

And when he turned down a corridor, he found himself staring down a massive black wolf. It was bloody **huge**. From snout to the base of its tail it had to be more than three meters long, and was at least a meter and a half tall at the shoulder. Harry froze at the sight of it, and said only four words, "Bloody hell, why me?"

The wolf sat back on its hind legs, cocked its head to one side, and Harry could have sworn it was grinning at him, if not laughing outright. He rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest.

"I'm glad that someone finds my life amusing."

The wolf nodded its head, and got back onto all four feet. It started to approach Harry, and seemed to be appraising him. When it got within a meter of him, it stopped and just stared. Neither of them moved for five minutes.

And then, Harry felt something in him... click, and then clearly heard, _*You'll do. It has been a long time since I have bonded to a wizard, but they are almost always the most interesting of times for me. I am Leon, a Himalayan Shadow Wolf.*_

With this, Harry blinked and shook his head, and said, "Yet another familiar? Fate hates me. That's all I can think of, Fate hates my bloody guts. By the way, a wolf named lion?"

The wolf bloody grinned again, and he heard a chuckle in his head, _*Very funny, pup, very funny. But, you're probably right on that fact that fate is not fond of you. Come on, let's get you to bed, cub. You have an international portkey to catch tomorrow.*_

"Don't you mean we?"

_*Nope, I have my very own method of travel, like a few other extremely powerful magical creatures. But unlike most other creatures, my range is only limited to where there are shadows, just as phoenixes are limited by there being something to burn where they arrive, even if it is only air.*_

"I'll buy you a cow if you get me out of taking the portkey."

_*Deal.*_

* * *

The next day, the eighteenth of July, Harry was pacing about in the departure chamber as everyone present eyed the massive wolf that was laying down nearby with various levels of fear. Remus had been more than a little concerned about the second deadly creature that had become Harry's familiar. But he had said nothing yet. Mainly because said familiar was present, and had all of the indicators that it was an alpha wolf.

You don't anger an alpha that large. It is just not something that a living being can do and remain among the living.

When Harry had told everyone how he would be traveling there had been some some consternation, but it had eventually ended when Leon raised his head from the floor and growled. That shut everyone up.

Remus had then left at the portkey's departure time, and then Master Shu had rushed into the room, apparently hoping to catch them before they left. When he saw only Harry there, he was a little confused, but still elated.

"Here, these are for you. The crystal will, once a week, deliver a lesson in the martial arts directly to your mind. The dummy is a training aid for you to spar against. Tap three times with wand. You'd better come back here for more training, Danial-san!" He handed a small wooden box to Harry.

As he left immediately after giving these two gifts, Harry idly wondered when the last time was that he had a student who came back. He contemplated doing just that, knowing that he had long ago lost his sanity. He put the box in his bag, pulled out a book on Arithmancy, and sat down against Leon to wait the four and a half hours it would take for Remus's portkey to reach the Retreat in the Black Forest.

He doused all of the lights except the one he would use to read.

* * *

And while Harry was wasting time with his new animal friend, the Ministry of Magic back in merry old England were losing their heads. A prisoner had escaped. Escaped from Azkaban. It was impossible. No one had ever escaped from the most feared prison in the wizarding world!

The Wizengamot was up in arms, the DMLE was getting every Auror and Hit-Wizard they could to start searching, and Fudge was worried what this would do to his chances for reelection.

A Death Eater had escaped from the prison island-fortress of Azkaban.

* * *

Checking his watch, Harry rose to his feet. "Time's up. So, how do we do this Leon?"

The wolf gestured that Harry should climb on his back. That thought slowly wormed its way through Harry's thoughts. He was going to ride a massive black wolf. Now _that_ was an image.

Doing as directed, Harry grabbed fistfuls of fur, careful not to yank any clumps out. Standing, Leon stretched, walked around the room a few times, and then bounded into the shadows. They came out into a wood walled room that had Remus working the kinks out from his long portkey ride.

Harry climbed off of Leon, grinning. "Thanks for that Leon, I owe you one live cow."

_*Damn straight you do, cub.*_

"How was the trip, Remus?"

"Like any other international portkey, cub."

Harry could just grunt at this. Damn Remus's immunity to motion sickness. Damn it to hell. "Yeah, well let's get to wherever we are being lodged so we can get adjusted to the time difference."

* * *

Harry hauled himself out of bed the early (ungodly so to most other people) next morning to Hedwig's trilling and Isis's weight upon his chest. Both she and Isis had absolutely no interest in going to the frozen mountain range, but they had decide that they would join Harry when he went to the Retreat in the Black Forest.

~Wakey, wakey Isis, I need you to get off of me.~

The snake, grumbling about losing her body temperature pillow, complied. Harry covered her back up with the blanket and cast a warming charm.

~There, rest well, you lazy snake.~

Going into his trunk and getting his little box of herbs, he gave Hedwig a sprig of parsley.

Leon, from the large portion of the room he was taking up, said, _*Hey what about me? You know you owe me a cow.*_

"I know, Leon. I'll talk to Remus and see what I can do about getting you your bovine. But you may very well have to wait until we either get to London, or even Hogwarts. I'm fairly certain with all the beasties Hagrid takes care of, he can do me the favor of buying a cow for me to give to you. I trust for the most part you are content to do your own hunting?"

_*Of course, I just want the bribe you promised me.*_

"And you shall receive, but next time make sure you get a delivery date."

_*I like your cunning, cub. We might be able to make something out of you yet.*_

"Only if I survive Leon, only if I survive."

It was about three in the morning so Harry settled down against Leon's flank and started reading his linking book devoted to magical creatures, with a the search attuned to the more harmless creatures that comprised the third year curriculum.

* * *

The next morning, after kicking Remus out of the cabin's kitchen so he wouldn't burn breakfast just by being there, Harry cooked up a halfway decent meal. He hadn't been forced to work in a kitchen in a little under two years, but he still managed to make something edible. This was going to be a long four weeks. Maybe he'd bribe Leon with a pig so he could make a trip to the Manor and get one of the kitchen house-elves. In fact...

Setting down food for himself and Moony, he said, "Remus would it be at all possible for me to order livestock?"

And the Marauder was struck dumb by this non sequitur in the midst of his first bite, his mouth working like a fish out of water, so at least he continued kind of chewing. "And just why do you need livestock, cub?"

"Because I bribed Leon for the trip from the Himalayas with the offer of a cow, and I am hoping for a pair of pigs he'll be willing to take me to London to borrow one of the house-elves from the manor."

Remus blinked at this twisty bit of logic, and then grinned, "I think we can get our hands on two pigs and a cow..."

"We'll need the cow first, I doubt he'll do anything else before I get him his beef."

Remus just nodded and started planning. Harry was a decent cook, but Sirius had sought out the absolute best elves in the staffing of the Manor.

Harry knew that in this area the German Underage Magic laws were not in effect, and so he used a few of the basic household spells to clean up after the meal.

* * *

Harry was out in the sunlight several hours later, reading under a tree. Hedwig was perched on a low lying branch, Isis draped around his neck, and Leon was between him and the tree, reading over his shoulder. It wasn't that he didn't want to deal with other people, he just didn't feel like doing more than reading.

Of course, the fact was give people someone seeking quiet, and you get someone who wants some action, ^Hey, you don't smell like a were-anything. Why're you here?^

Looking up, he saw a boy about his age, with a mop of dark blonde hair and muddy brown eyes. ^My uncle is a were. So it's either be here or watch my godfather perv out at beaches around the world. And I don't do well with water.^

The boy harrumphed and took a seat on the ground nearby, ^What is with the menagerie?^

~I resemble that remark.~

"I knew leaving you and Hedwig with access to a television set was going to end poorly. No more Stooges for you, Isis."

^Hey, I barely understand English, and since you seem to speak perfectly fine German, why'd you change languages?^

^Sorry, I wasn't talking to you. Isis here was being a wise ass. As for the 'menagerie', they are my familiars.^

The boy blinked several times at that, worked his mouth like a fish (Harry briefly thought that he should try and get a patent on causing that response), and then shook his head. ^Remind me to never pick a fight when magic is involved with you.^

Harry shrugged and turned the page of his book, ^So, any particular reason you came over to interrupt what may have turned into a nice nap?^

^Yeah, everyone else was playing football, which is a sport I do not enjoy, so I wanted to see what was up with all the animals.^

Harry chuckled and said, ^I'm Harry.^

^Ivan.^

* * *

Over the next few days, Harry and Ivan hung out, talking about about what interested them. They were both fans of Quidditch, though Ivan was a supporter of the Bulgarian National Team and the Lovech Lions, one of the underdogs of the Eastern European Professional League whereas Harry followed the Welsh National Team and generally supported Puddlemere United at the professional level. Ivan was not the most serious of students, though he was glad that he now had someone else his own age he could ask for clarification on anything theory that may trouble him. Harry however had very little interest in hockey, and from Ivan's descriptions of the level of violence and fights that broke out, had even less.

They also manged to get into a few paint duels, even going so far as to grab a few more kids and make up teams or have a free for all. Once, they even managed to gather together enough brooms and players for Quidditch. It was a bit of a change of pace for Harry, he played Chaser, because no one else on his team wanted to play the position. Ivan was a Beater on the opposing team. Harry didn't think he did all that badly, but his team still lost when the opposing Seeker got the snitch. Which they were lucky to do, because Harry's team had been leading by one-hundred and twenty points when it had been caught.

* * *

In the middle of the week, Remus led a large cow up to the cabin, and nodded at Harry, who went in search of Leon. The gruesome act, which could only be called a feeding frenzy, could not be watched for longer than a few seconds for either of those humans present.

Leon took Harry to London and back for only one pig, the cow having been so very tasty he said. Harry wasn't sure when the next time he would be able to eat beef would be. At least they had someone to cook the meals now.

* * *

That Thursday, while he was wandering around the grounds of the Retreat, Harry saw an old man sitting on a stone bench near a fire pit, who called to him, "You the kid that is supposed to be skilled at the Mind Arts who they said would be visiting?"

Groaning internally, but knowing that it would be both rude, and probably useless, to run away, he took a seat across from the man. "Not unless a second one is running around here. So how much of my time are you going to demand?"

Taking a closer look at the man who was now laughing, he reminded Harry of Christopher Lee. And also made Harry think that he had watched one too many movies last summer. He just had to go to the movies every third day. It got him away from the pranks. Well that, and the Dursleys had never allowed it, and anything that the Dursleys had allowed Dudley and forbidden him had to be fun.

"No, no, young man, I'll only teach you as much as you want to be taught. So, would you mind filling me in on what you know?"

So, Harry spent the next couple of hours once more going over just about everything he knew about the defensive and constructive mind arts. The old man shook his head when he went over the theory only lessons he had been given.

"You have a heavy grounding in most of what you'll ever need to know, and you have come to the correct assumption that once you reach a certain point in your learning, you will need to rebuild everything from the ground up. What I think will best serve you right now is teaching you how to harness your instinctual mind and more animalistic characteristics. Have you started to learn the Animagus transformation yet?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well, if and when you do, you'll find what I can teach you gives a few advantages in learning it, and if you manage a large degree of proficiency... well let's just say you won't have very many issues learning to control it. So, would you like some lessons?"

Harry nodded his head excitedly.

"Alrighty then, I am Jack O'Neill, and listen well, as I will only say things once, for reasons that will be obvious to any Occlumens of your ability."

* * *

The week that followed started with a lecture on how to tap into and direct the sections of Harry's mind that focused with the more animal side.

"But before you can tap into more instinctual side, you need to be able to identify it," the man's grin as he wound down his lecture was bit disturbing, "and I find the best way to do this is to provoke a person's fight-or-flight response," and the last syllable out of Jack's mouth was accompanied by a spell.

The rest of the period of the time alternated with Jack trying to get Harry to find just where he could find his inner animal. He also spent some time talking about lycanthropes.

"Ultimately, it is the result of a very ancient blood curse. Its actually part of the reason why werewolves don't like to have children. With a normal person, there are even odds of a lesser version of the curse being passed to the child. The poor kid would never transform, but would probably have anger and control issues for all of its life, issues that would get worse with the waxing of the moon.

"Our animal sides are stronger because the curse forcefully replaces our inner beast with a much stronger one that is of course a wolf. There are other cursed shifters who have other animals, like panthers and jackals, but the differences are really only cosmetic. As you make more use of your animalistic side Harry, you'll be strengthening it. So long as you continue to work with it as it grows, you should never really have any control issues. There might be a few issues during the first few months if you become an Animagus, but that is only if you are capable of it."

The night before his birthday came around and Harry had no idea what he would be doing the next day, if anything at all... He knew that the first magical maturation he would go though without blocks on him was not going to be fun. Remus had told him that as a Marauder he wouldn't be going far from the cabin in case Harry needed him.

Harry went to bed that night more than a little fearful, but Hedwig sung him to sleep, and Leon bid him goodnight saying, _*Rest, cub, I shall hold the watch until you awake.*_

* * *

Waking up in the pitch black room, Harry felt like Fred and George had used him for target practice and he had been unable to evade. Groaning, he heaved himself up so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He still had his eyes closed, but he cracked one open to check the alarm clock. It said one in the afternoon, and the things he had been seeing with his Mage Sight had become sharper and more defined.

"Bloody hell."

Isis slithered her way around Harry's feet, saying, ~I was so worried! You were tossing and turning all night, and then you didn't get up when you normally do. And now you are not moving so well!~

~I'll be fine Isis. I may have to take it easy for a few days, but I should be just fine.~

He canceled the spell he had learned to drown out his Mage Sense, and it was no long an assault on his mind. It was as if someone had filtered out the static of a badly tuned radio station. He could feel the presence of each of his familiars, and each was a different melody with a different pressure against his skin.

He could also hear another magical presence in the common room of the cabin. It was probably Remus. And, just barely, he could make out his own presence, though he could only hear what would be the echo of the heaviest bass notes of it.

Prying his eyes open, he could clearly see the auras around each of his companions, and the minor threads of errant magic running through the air.

Stumbling out of the room and dropping himself down into a seat at the table, Harry said, "Food please."

Remus gave Harry a once-over and said, "I had Zinny keep you some food warm from breakfast. Now, do you want that or lunch?"

"Breakfast first, then lunch. Close together. I'm starved."

The aforementioned House-elf came out bearing a tray, and Harry dug in.

* * *

Harry spent the rest of that day and the one following resting. He hadn't slept as much as he had since the blocks had been removed. On Monday, the second of August, he and his familiars were then moved, along with everyone else present who wasn't a werewolf, to a building that was more of a bunker than anything else. Everyone was in the building an hour before sunset, and it was locked down half an hour before. He was still recovering, so he spent most of his time either reading while sitting against Leon, or curled up taking a nap snuggled up with the giant wolf. He went to sleep early.

All of the 'normal' witches and wizards present were a more than a little unnerved with such behavior around what would normally be an extremely dangerous creature.

* * *

The day after things were quiet as the Werewolf population rested, and Harry continued to do the same. He had finally stopped aching all over that morning, and though he was a little lethargic, he figured he'd mostly be back to normal in time for the rest of the population of the retreat returning to normal tomorrow.

And he was, though he knew he would be careful not to push himself too much. He talked with Ivan for a while about schools (Harry was of course a student of Hogwarts, and Ivan went to Durmstrang) and his lessons with Jack that day finally started to yield results.

However the result was the vague feeling that he was poking a tiger with a feather. When he mentioned that to Jack, he was told, "Lad, you've got to be very, _very_ careful proceeding. From everyone I've talked to, those who've gotten this kind of response tend to be those who when they eventually completed the Animagus transformation have the forms of apex predators. Of the thirty I've talked to, only four haven't, and those four were High Mages or stronger who weren't capable of the transformation, but instead could cow transformed weres by flaring their magical aura. Where most wizards could get away with controlling their inner beast, you're going to have to befriend. And be careful as hell waking it up, animals tend to be grumpy when rudely awoke."

Harry sat quietly for a few minutes before saying, "Why would I need to befriend a part of me?"

Jack's answering grin wasn't as scary as a few of his other ones, but it was a little unnerving, "Well then, if that is how you truly think, you'll have to go easy rousing it, but you should just be able to align your mind to it, and allow your animalistic side function as an extension of yourself. But only if you absolutely believe what you just said."

Harry had noticed something so far in his dealings with Jack, and he couldn't help but ask at the end of the lesson, "Why are you in such good spirits when most of the others here are still limping and moping?"

"Because, young Harry, as a Mind Master, I am the always the one in control of my mind. Always. On Monday, I was in total control of myself without the Wolfsbane Potion. Controlling how the transformation occurs is impossible under the 'Bane, but I can. I can't stop it from happening, but I can slow the transition to and from, and that makes it easier on me."

Harry blinked at that, it was fairly close to something he had read about, something that was a bit of a myth, and the holy grail of werewolves. But it couldn't be. The last mention of anyone being even close was in a two hundred year old history text talking about a werewolf in the thirteen hundreds.

"Just how close are you to becoming a Lycan?"

Jack just smiled sadly and said, "That's impossible for me. I am a minor talent when it comes to magic, and all of the research I've done, and there is very little, points to the werewolf needing to be well above average when it comes to both power and control."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be Harry. That you even know about it says something about the resources you have access to, and your ability to research. Now come, let's see if you can skip several months of tedious work and get within a stone's throw of beginning to master this aspect..."

* * *

A person was hiding in the middle of a forest. In the person's hands was a newspaper. Eyes locked on the headline and the accompanying picture showed a focus so total that this person was apparently completely unaware of their surroundings.

A mess of tangled hair and filthy robes, the person looked like they had been put through hell.

The paper had a picture of a twelve year old boy posing with a sword against the corpse of a massive snake.

* * *

By week's end, Harry had a dozen animals wandering around his mental defenses, and the defenses themselves were a bit prone to slight alterations that would make breaching the inner mind even harder, if only for the fact that intruders would not be able to map the defenses as they tried to work a way through.

Jack, though he would never say it out loud, wondered if Harry would be capable of the negating all of the disadvantages of being a werewolf if he ever had the misfortune of being infected. Half of him hoped it would never happen. The other half couldn't help but wonder. And then he remembered of the little known fact that permanent curses and powerful magic users did not mix well, and buried the thought deep.

But, he had taught Harry the basis of everything he needed to, but if Harry ever had any questions, he encouraged the young man to write.

On Sunday, Ivan had managed to arrange a large scale paint duel, but the only way he had managed that was by promising that he and Harry were teamed up against the nine others who would be participating. Harry didn't like it, but he agreed. He had been itching to try his Mage Sense out in a situation like this, but he had hoped the odds would be a little closer to two on one instead of four and a half on one.

* * *

It was nearing the end of the second hour of the duel. Those nine would just not give up. three of them were splattered with enough paint that if it had been anything even remotely resembling a real duel, they would have long been hexed into a coma or worse. Four more would have probably been down for the count. The remaining two were less marked...

But nothing compared to Ivan and Harry. They had been hit maybe three dozen times altogether, with the majority on Ivan. Nobody had managed to sneak up on Harry yet, and the hits that he did get was when they flanked him and managed to set up a crossfire, and he had managed to avoid the bulk of the fire on those two occasions anyway.

^Ivan, are you getting tired of this too?^

^Yeah.^

Harry then yelled, after a quick sonorous, ^**Come on and just admit defeat. It's been two hours and we're getting bored.**^

Someone replied, ^**We'll be willing to call it a draw!**^

Harry shared a look with his companion and they replied in sync, ^_**Never!**_^

The duel carried on for another half an hour before the other team finally admitted defeat.

* * *

The next day, sitting beneath his favorite tree, Harry was reading. As usual.

Harry had been thumbing his way through the journals of all the previous Lord Potters, and after having gone through the three most recent sets, he had come to a conclusion. He hated politics. Absolutely despised them.

Just the thought of being involved with the people his forefathers describe made him feel ill. And from the general tones of the writing so far, most of them didn't like it either.

"Bah, humbug."

* * *

The next day, Harry was sitting at a picnic table, idly scratching out runes on a piece of parchment. He was going to have to figure out whether mental image based inscription spells interfered with the working of empowered runes. It was something that seemed like it was at least worth looking into.

His musing were interrupted when a woman sat down across from him. She had dark brown hair, and bright blue eyes. She had a dreamy look on her face that he had come to associate with Luna when she was describing some of those creatures she was so fond of.

"I am Anora Wayland. Jack spoke well of how you were capable of learning. There is one major flaw in Occlumency, and it is not well known because the method of attack is so rarely used. Everyone just assumes that it protects everything. I was disabused of this notion decades ago, and had to work very hard to uncover what I needed to know.

"An Occlumens fortifies their conscious mind against active intrusion, but it builds no such defenses for when the mind is attacked while it dreams. And since even the most accomplished in the Mind Arts still need to sleep, no matter how little it is, they are still vulnerable to attack.

"This will not be easy to learn. There will not be a short cut of sheer belief and acceptance like with what Jack taught you. If you do accept learning from me, I will be able to give you the most basic exercises for beginning to understand your sleeping mind, but it will be months, if not longer, before you will be able to even begin to protect yourself on that front. And it will be even longer before you are able to use the concepts that protect you while you sleep in your waking mind."

Harry simply nodded. If there was a hole this massive... that wasn't a good thing.

"You are to go to sleep each night attempting to mediate. You want to be able to transition from a waking state to a dreaming state without losing consciousness, and be aware that you are dreaming. Lucid dreaming is the name of this state. This is likely the one objective that will take the longest to achieve. No matter how long it takes, or how often you fail, keep trying.

"Now as what we are ultimately aiming for is the ability to enter a lucid dreaming state every time you go to sleep, the other way to enter this state is to become aware of it while you are already dreaming. One way is to carry a a bit of text that you know by heart in your pocket. If you think you are dreaming read it, look away and then read it again. Three times out of four, if you are dreaming, the text changes. If you reread it a second time, the chances of it changing in a dream rise to nineteen out of twenty. As a part of this, you will also start keeping a dream journal, so that you can improve you dream recall, in order to improve your ability to recognize when you are dreaming.

"As you learn to access and alter your dreams, you can begin to train your subconscious as you have been training your mind to have autonomic responses. Eventually you will learn to fortify, weaponize, and maybe even eventually militarize your dreams. The reason you have to train your subconscious instead of simply building defenses is that any defenses built will be washed away from one dream to the next.

"All of this leads back to lucidity. It is the ultimate defense when one is within their dreamscape. I learned this because a dark wizard had set an astral monster that preyed upon dreams on me. It was three frantic weeks trying to find some way to fight back when I accidentally had a lucid dream that became a nightmare when the beast set upon me for on last time.

"I reshaped my dream in an instant and tore it to ribbons with next to no effort. I got lucky. And so I became determined to not have to rely on that luck ever again. I can bend my dreams to my whims, and my defenses there make most of the mental defenses werewolves like my husband come up with look like mewling kittens in comparison."

* * *

The remaining time at the Retreat passed quickly. No one else wanted to go up against either Ivan or Harry, and so the three paint duels they ended up doing were between each other, and the outcomes were even by the end three wins Harry, three Ivan, and one draw. They managed to scrape together one more Quidditch game though, and this time Harry flew as Seeker, while Ivan was Keeper on the same team as he was. This time they won, hands down. Harry's record, as far as it came to playing Seeker, remained unbroken.

Finally the day before the return to London came. Harry was sitting out in front of the cabin, idly leafing through a summery of what he had studied of Arithmancy. He was going to be slightly bored in that class this year, in addition to the expected boredom in Runes. Most of it would comprise of learning which numbers have magical properties, and getting the class onto the same page when it came to mathematics.

Considering that he was still self-studying what he could from the muggle education system, and he was busy muddling his way through pre-calculus, he doubted he would have very many issues. Ivan sat down across from Harry, and said, ^You know, I never asked after your last name.^

Harry grunted, and said, ^Yeah, well, not really fond of the attention my name brings.^

^Well, well, neither am I. I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.^

^Potter.^

Ivan blinked a few times, and then said, ^Well, I wasn't really expecting that. Potter, as in The-Boy-Who-Lived, Potter?^

^The one, the only, and Fate's favorite plaything. Now, what's yours?^

^Krum.^

^I assume you are some how related to the Bulgarian National Team Seeker if you dislike the attention that name gets you?^

^Yup. He's my elder brother.^

^Well, it has been enjoyable getting to know you, Ivan. What would your opinion be on trading letters through the school year?^

^I wouldn't mind it all.^

* * *

**A/N2: Little late in posting this today. Headache just would not go away. Sorry.**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 26 and 27 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 8:15 PM, 2 November, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 26:**

**Word Count: 5,130 | Character Count: 27,679 | Hits: 47,781 | Reviews: 65**

**Chapter 27:**

**Word Count: 4,520 | Character Count: 24,164 | Hits: 42,117 | Reviews: 72**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 9,650 | Character Count: 51,843 | Hits: 89,898 | Reviews: 137**

**New Total Word Count: 12,174 | New Total Character Count: 65,616**


	10. The Dementors of Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: ****As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review.**

**Chapter size may end up a bit wimpy when compared to others. But screw the size, I have a buffer!**

**Work on Chapter 13 (second chapter of book 4) starts shortly after this is going to be posted.**

* * *

Chapter 10: The Dementors of Hogwarts

Harry slid off of Leon, looking around the dark room of the Manor.

"Yes, Leon, I'll get you the seven chickens as soon as I can when we get to Hogwarts."

The wolf just looked at the teen.

"How do I know that there will be chickens at Hogwarts? Because Hagrid had roosters that were killed by whoever Riddle was using as a meat-puppet last year."

Nodding, the wolf shrunk to what would be a size more suitable to moving around the Manor... or Hogwarts. Harry gave him a dirty look.

"You know what, I'm not even going to ask why you stayed as the more massive version for the past four weeks. The reason would probably give me a headache."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he went to look for Sirius, who, if Harry remembered correctly (and he always remembered correctly), should have gotten back three days ago. Knowing how the Marauder had put off more important things to go to his beaches, he would probably be in the office/study attached to his suite.

So hauling his backside up to the top floor, he knocked on Padfoot's door, and entered when he heard the man bellow that he was decent. Making his way to the office, Harry slumped a nearby chair to face the Head of the House of Black.

"So, why so serious?"

Padfoot groaned and turned toward his godson.

"I do not know why, but only Potters seem to be able to pull of that pun without cracking up. I don't know why."

"My theory is that we all have some form of hereditary insanity."

Sirius just stared at the teen, whose hair was still black with lots of red, but was back to its normal length.

"Hey, I picked up another familiar while at our first stop. It only took me a few days to adjust to the fact that I now had a giant shadow wolf that would follow me around for the rest of my unnatural life."

All the man did in response to this was quirk an eyebrow.

"So what are you working on, Sirius?"

"... Why are you interested?"

"I'm bored and don't want to go to the Alley until tomorrow. I don't feel like studying, I know it is a shock, I'm too wired to practice my spellcasting, which still hasn't completely recovered from having a basilisk fang slammed through my forearm, flying might be an option, but after the past few weeks, I actually want to be in the real sky than a basement. So that leaves either talking to you or my familiars. I'd prefer human company at the moment."

The Marauder shrugged, and said, "I'm going over the inventory of everything the House gained from the Malfoys and Lestranges."

"Paperwork?" Harry's face scrunched in thought for a moment, "I could do some paperwork. Want some help?"

Sirius blinked. Maybe Harry was right about the hereditary insanity. No sane person _wanted_ to do paperwork. "Help yourself pup. Need to talk to you about something, though."

Picking up a folder and readjusting his glasses, Harry said, "I have a feeling this will be an unpleasant conversation."

"Indeed. There was a break-out from Azkaban."

"I'm not going to say that that should be impossible. No prison is foolproof, and anyone that believes so is a fool themselves."

"Anyway, the escapee was a Death Eater. Hasn't been caught yet."

"And you are bringing this to my attention, because? There are plenty of," he made a set of quotes with his fingers, " 'pardoned' Death Eaters hanging around and none of the threats to my life have come from them."

"Yeah, well this escapee wasn't all too stable when she went in. And the Aurors have theorized that she could have one of two targets."

"One of which I assume is me."

"Yup. The other is Neville."

Harry blinked at that, and then said, "So it was Bellatrix, huh?"

Sirius just stared dumbfounded at Harry.

"There were very few female Death Eaters that ended up in Azkaban. Hell, there were few known female Death Eaters, period. There is only one known that would have any reason to go after a Longbottom. Ergo, the escapee is in all likelihood, Bellatrix Black, formerly Lestrange. Am I correct?"

"You are indeed pup. So, the Minister, in his infinite wisdom, is putting Hogwarts under guard until she is caught. The guard will consist almost solely of Dementors."

"Do you know how many?"

"One hundred fifty-seven."

"That is almost the entire garrison of the fortress, with only enough left over for a skeleton crew. What the hell is Fudge think... wait never mind. He's covering his ass, can't let his popularity rating slip too low... Oh this is interesting, Malfoy had a thirteen percent interest in the Prophet. The Lestranges had a seven..."

"Black has fifteen."

"Hrm... Need to talk to Griphook, see how much the Potters have. We might be able to get a controlling interest in the paper without too much of a fuss. Maybe then they could actually be made to print truth instead of rumors and gossip."

"Good idea. Oh by the way, Nicolas and Perenelle are going to be here for dinner on Wednesday."

Harry grunted and then the pair worked in silence for another ten minutes, and then a sound of sheer disgust ripped from Harry's throat.

"What's wrong pup?"

"There is a... stockpile, for lack of a better word, of attuned potions, all designed to inhibit a person's free will in some way shape or form. It's like reading the pharmacy list for some twisted healing regime. And from what I'm reading, they've been under preservation charms..."

"That makes me wonder two things. One easy, one difficult. Which House did they come from, and who was the poor soul they were attuned to?"

* * *

The trip to Diagon Alley was quick and painless. Harry's Hogwarts letter was waiting for him, a mail redirection having been placed for the duration of the trip. His friends knew that he would be out of touch for the duration of the summer, so that only post he had waiting for him were official correspondence from the school and Gringotts and the massive stack of the Daily Prophet. He knew he had forgotten to do something before leaving on his vacation.

His reading had turned over to a new focus. In his search for inscription spells, he had come up with what could very well be an extremely brilliant and time-saving idea. A couple of ideas actually, that if they all worked together like he thought they should... Well, he would probably spend a couple days bouncing off the walls if it did.

Dinner on Wednesday went over well. The talk mostly centered on their various trips, though Nicolas and Perenelle had remained in the country. Harry smiled faintly as Sirius tried to pull attention away from the fact that his trip was about seeing beautiful young women in bathing suits. Remus avoided touching on the real reason he had taken his trip. Harry idly spoke about what he had learned.

After dinner, Nicolas pulled Harry aside and handed him a potion and a small box. "Happy birthday.

"I want to warn you. What the potion does is going to hurt. Badly. But I am certain you will like the results."

Harry stared darkly at the vile vial he was holding for a moment, he put the box down on a nearby table, shrugged, and downed it in one gulp.

He was driven to his knees moments later, clutching his face in pain. He was vaguely aware of someone screaming. It may very well have been him. It felt like something was melting his eyes.

And it was over as quickly as it began. He was lying in a heap on the floor, panting and sweating. Everything seemed fuzzy. Like how the world looked when he had his glasses off.

But he had his glasses on... And then a thought wormed its way into his head.

He sat up, taking his spectacles off. He could see!

He then turned to Nicolas, confused.

"The fix for the Mage Sight needed your normal vision corrected. In the box is a pair of glasses that will block your Sight. The biggest problem was that the glasses couldn't have any form of vision correction on them, magical or mundane. So..."

"You fixed my eyes. Thanks. Still hurt like hell."

"I warned you. Just imagine if you had the pain tolerance of a normal person."

"I can see why there are still glasses in the wizarding world."

* * *

And the first of September came. Harry had finally stopped having headaches with the addition of the Sight-blocking glasses. He had always assumed it was something along the lines of a minor case of sensory overload. Even if his Mage Sense wasn't bombarding him anymore, he could still feel all the energy around him. And when he actually focused he could sometimes lose himself in the magic around him.

He wondered how bad it would be when he got to Hogwarts. He hadn't been back to the Alley since he had gotten the glasses, and that was the only place he could think of that would have anywhere near the magic of Hogwarts.

He'd just have to play it by ear.

He was one of the first on the platform, as always. He liked being early, having his choice of compartments, being able to get comfortable before the train filled with humanity. He also despised being late, it may have been something that his Aunt had forced into him, but it was a good habit none-the-less.

He also had gotten his Hogsmeade permission slip signed by Nicolas.

Leon had taken the space on the floor by the window, and Harry was in the seat there, his boots off and was sitting cross-legged. He had his backpack in his lap, and was idly double-checking the contents. He had all of his set linking books, a few emergency potions he had taken to packing, and an ungodly amount of chocolate, all kept under cooling charms.

If Hogwarts was playing host to the majority of the Dementor garrison, it probably wasn't enough chocolate.

He pulled out a linking book bound to 'magical beings'. "Dementors."

He picked the first book in the listing, and started reading.

* * *

The train was pulling from the station, and each time they had entered they had frozen for an instant at seeing his newest familiar. But having been confronted by a basilisk last year as his newest companion, they got over it quickly.

Well, everyone except Luna had frozen. She had found him first, scratched Leon behind the ears, and serenely taken a seat before pulling out the most recent copy of the Quibbler.

Harry idly thought that whatever brand of insanity he had seemed to be spreading. But then again, Luna had her own brand of crazy.

Neville had been the next to find him, and they had a quick conversation concerning Bellatrix.

"Harry, did you hear the news?"

"Yes, I have Nev."

"You know about what happened to my parents, so you know why she may be after me. It should be obvious why a Death Eater who went to Azkaban rather than renounce her master would be after you."

Harry simply nodded as Neville presented the bare facts.

"I really hope they don't put restrictions on our Hogsmeade visits. Even it if is for 'our own protection'."

"Well I wouldn't really mind. I don't really see what the fuss is about. Besides which, the Twins have been kind enough to do my shopping for me since first year. What they couldn't get, which was only one really specific book, I can get owl order."

"Of course you don't mind, the interests of a normal person and your own don't really meet in the same plane of existence. I, on the other hand, want to be able to get off the grounds every once in a while."

After Hermione unfroze she said, "Did you know Hogsmeade is the only entirely wizarding settlement in Britain," Harry had then mostly tuned her out as she proceeded to give what amounted to a lecture on the village of Hogsmeade. Neville actually looked like he was enjoying it, but Harry had already done his own research, and while Hermione tended to focus on history, she still had a tendency to regurgitate textbooks verbatim. The more people change the more they stay the same. It was actually almost endearing when you got used to it.

There were a few interesting tidbits that he heard and took note of to look up on his own. It was at those points that he made the obligatory noises to show he was still supposedly paying attention.

The Ferret failed to make his yearly appearance. Harry idly wondered how poverty (as the Malfoys saw it, even though they were still fairly well off by the standards of most of the wizarding world) was treating him. Instead they got a visit from the Weasel.

"Well, well, if it isn't Scarhead and the other freaks of Gryffindor, honestly how anyone can stand being in the same House as you lot, I don't know. I mean, who in their right mind has wild animals following them around? And the near-squib Longbottom, don't even get me started on that. There is of course the castle's resident know-it-all bookworm. And Loony Lovegood. If I must say..."

Harry turned the page of his book as everyone else in the compartment sent a different hex at Ronald. And if his senses were right, a pair more came from out in the corridor. Of course, he was proven right as Fred and George stepped over their brother.

"George, I cannot believe..."

"... that we are related to that git. I must agree, Fred."

"Let's dump him in an empty compartment."

Harry took a moment to memorize just how each twin registered to his Mage Sense. He was sure as hell not going to miss a chance to tell the difference between the two. He'd take a few weeks to figure iron it out, make sure he could tell them apart in his head, but once he could...

A grin graced his face as turned another page.

* * *

Rain had been lashing the window for the past hour. And for some reason the train was starting to slow down. That wasn't right, they were still an hour out from the station.

This couldn't be good.

And it got worse as the train stopped entirely and the lights went out. Moments later, Harry was muttering a quick spell and flicking half a dozen spheres of softly pulsating white light into the air. He felt something akin to frost creeping up the outside of his mental shields.

He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, as they sat in silence for a few minutes. Harry could almost feel the ice growing on his mental barriers, worming its way through the microscopic gaps in his defenses. He quickly tagged any areas that could be trouble. He'd deal with the two or three later. He had a gut feeling about what had made its way onto the train.

And he was right as a Dementor made its way to the door of the compartment and started to open it. The ice thickened when the thing came into sight. Harry made a few mental notes about the being, theories and facts. From everything he had read, the Ministry should have been looking for a means of destroying these things instead of employing them.

"_For Dementors glory in fear, death, and decay; and dwell in the dank and dark. Destroyers of happiness and devourers of souls."_

He also felt frost spreading from a number of memory containers in his inner mind. He made a quick list of which ones would need better containment.

He could see the color draining from the faces of his friends. His wand was still out from his setting of the light spells. So he stood, sub-vocally setting a high-power fire spell at the ready. His wand tip lit with bright blue flames. He felt his shields groan under the weight of the Dementor's presence, felt his worst memories working their way to the forefront of his mind. He had to act quick, or he'd be incapacitated quickly. He really needed to learn the Patronus.

He leveled his wand at the demon. "None of us are hiding Bellatrix Black here. Leave now, or I get to test my theory on whether or not your kind can stand up to ridiculously overpowered high-end fire spells."

The hood of Dementor's cloak moved from pointing at Harry's face, to his burning wand tip, and back to his face. It turned and left. Harry barely made his way back to his seat before he collapsed. In a few minutes the lights were back on and the train was moving again.

Everyone in the compartment looked like they had just gotten over the flu.

Hermione was the first to break the silence, "I can't believe they are setting those... things around a school!"

Harry grunted his agreement disconsolately, canceled both the fire spell and the orbs of light, and said, "Well believe it. From what I could track in the papers, the announcement that the Dementors would be stationed at Hogwarts followed shortly after the Minister's approval rating had taking an even bigger drop than when the break-out itself was leaked to the Prophet. Sirius agrees with me on the belief that he thought he needed to be seen doing something."

He then started tossing everyone a bar of chocolate.

Neville had a grim smile as he said, before taking a bite of chocolate, "Only you, Harry, would threaten to torch a Dementor."

"Hey, I lacked the one spell proven to work against them, but from all I've read, no one has tried the 'Kill it with fire' approach to those things. From its reaction I don't think it has either."

* * *

Harry was slumped at the Gryffindor table, waiting for the Sorting, and by extension the Feast, to start. McGonagall had grabbed Hermione for one reason or another. His list of most hated things in the world had gotten a new occupant, and it had debuted at number two. God, he hated Dementors. He looked up at the head table and stared.

And then he spoke, "Why the **Hell** is Sirius sitting at the head table?"

That brought the rest of the rather shell-shocked group back to the present and they stared at their apparently new teacher.

This wasn't going to end well. Sirius may have been a former Auror, but there was no way in hell that this was going to end well. Harry felt bad for the poor firsties that would have to put up with the erratic man.

And speaking of firsties, McGonagall was leading them in, Hermione was taking a seat across from him, and the hat was singing its song:

_(Once more, another song_

_I cannot write verse to save my life_

_let us move along_

_before I embarrass myself)_

Harry watched with his normal passive interest (he'd remember who was who if nothing else, and given that Luna's yearmates had approached him for homework help last year after he was caught helping Luna, it was also amusing how they reacted when he had called them by name without any introduction), and applauded when they got new Lions, and then cheered when the last one was sorted.

Dumbledore made his normal pre-food speech, Harry wasn't paying attention anymore, he was just staring at the plates on the table. And when the food appeared, he ate like a man who had been lost in the wilderness for a week or two. Having gotten most of the summer catch-up done on the train, his friends spoke instead about how much of a horror it would be with the less mature Marauder teaching Defense.

When the food was finally gone, Dumbles gave his real announcements.

"We have two changes in staff this year. I would first like to introduce Professor Sirius Black," Moony somehow was managing to chuckle while he had a look of horror on his face and Snape looked like he wanted to set Sirius on fire, "who is taking the place of Professor Dawlish, who has returned to the Auror Office. And Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank shall be replacing Professor Kettleburn, who has decided to retire in order to spend some quality time with his remaining limb. She shall be aided by our own gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, who has assented to take up the post of Assistant Professor in addition to his other duties."

Even as he applauded with the rest of the students, Harry could not help but think of who's bright idea that was. Even Harry was afraid of some of the beasts that Hagrid called cute, and he had the least sense of self-preservation out of the entire student body. At least he wasn't in charge, so they probably wouldn't be seeing anything too deadly. Yet.

* * *

Harry had caught up with Alistair last night, and though they still had most of Harry's summer to speak about, they could do that at their leisure. The Hat was very grumpy about the Dementors, but neither he nor the castle had access to the kind of firepower needed to run the things off, short of throwing up the siege wards.

And Hogwarts had immediately shot down that suggestion when Al had made it. But only because of the logistical problems associated with raising those wards.

At breakfast the next morning, Harry saw just how cramped his class schedule was. He had been expecting it, but in the end he only had one hour off of classes a day, except on Fridays.

One Fridays he had **two**.

He wondered if he would undergo a mental breakdown when O.W.L.s rolled around. He hoped not. If standardized testing sent him comatose how the hell would he handle the Dark Tosser?

The only thing he objected to was having Potions first thing on Thursdays. Today was a Thursday.

He'd survive, he just wouldn't be happy about it. But then again, Leon was here under the table getting passed the occasional strip of bacon (note to self, talk to Hagrid in regards to owed chickens), maybe he could be talked into coming to potions... Maybe he would be happy about having that class first...

* * *

Harry was grinning from ear to ear after Potions. None of the more git-like Snakes were willing to even think about sabotaging his work when he had a wolf heeling him. It had actually been one of the more peaceful Potions classes he had ever had.

Professor Vector, teacher of Arithmancy, had passed out a test very first thing. It ranged from basic arithmetic to some fairly heavy algebra. Harry demolished the test, figuratively of course, and handed it back.

The professor nodded and said, "Return to you seat and read your text, Mr. Potter."

Instead he watched who he shared the class with. There was Hermione, of course, and she was the only other Gryffindor in the room. There were also only two Hufflepuffs in the room, Susan Bones (wonder if she was any relation to the director of the DMLE) and Justin Finch-Fletchley (he had always seemed a little pompous, but was still an all around good fellow). There were three Slytherins present along with three Ravenclaws. The scaly contingent consisted of Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Blaise Zabini (which Harry firmly believed was a girl's name), all of whom seemed to try to stay out of the attention of the general population. The Ravens were Su Li (the single most quiet member of the house of ravens), Terry Boot(an acquaintance, and a likely good replacement study partner for when Hermione descended into madness this year), and Padma Patil (Harry was glad there was a ready-made way to tell that pair of twins apart).

Runes was, as Harry expected, suitably boring in its first year. They would indeed be memorizing different sets of runes (until, Professor Babbling said, they knew them by heart; which did a fat lot of good for Harry and his perfect recall, though he knew enough to keep his big mouth shut). They would be working primarily with Norse runes.

Harry would be glad for the rest his poor abused brain cells would get from this class.

The other classes that he had before the weekend, Charms, History, Herbology, and Transfiguration were all fairly normal. Harry had already read the what needed to be read, practiced most of the spellwork, and only really had to take notes (which he only did half the time anyway).

* * *

On Saturday, Harry slumped down into a seat in the Great Hall with only one thought.

Wood had gone (even more) insane.

He had dragged the sleeping members of the team (and Harry) down to the pitch at an inhumane hour, and started to give a rousing speech to the comatose players. Harry played Cat's Cradle. Wood then continued to go over plays and strategies with those who were still asleep and those who were only mostly asleep. Harry would really have to thank Remus for the yo-yo.

He then forced everyone into the air, and worked them until noon. Harry had dive-bombed him every fifteen minutes like clockwork. Ollie was really being a git about this. The others really needed their sleep, and Harry would rather be reading. Besides which, it was only the first week of school, and not even the first whole one.

* * *

Defense with Sirius Black. It wasn't the horror he had thought it would be. But then again, he had had a few nightmares about it. Partially because he knew the position had been cursed, and after working with Alistair on who had held the post, and what had caused them to leave, Harry crunched the numbers and it came out to a roughly ten percent fatality rate, fifteen percent permanent maiming, twenty percent had a lengthy hospital stay, though the remaining forty-five percent were not harmed.

He was worried about Padfoot.

Instead he stated that they would be working on dark creatures this year. He gave them a list of what they would be covering and when, and then gave them some reading to do for the first half of the double period.

The second half of the period devolved into a free for all paint duel. Harry should have known. As it was, he barely managed to drop to the ground and avoid getting a face full of paint.

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures was interesting. Harry was glad that they weren't presented with creatures that could kill them easily. Though when he had tea with Hagrid during the weekend before class, the large man was more than a little upset that some of his more favorite beasties would only be shared with the fifth and sixth years.

* * *

Two weeks later, Hermione cornered Harry in the common room. She looked angry as hell. She babbled on for five minutes about to the general tune of 'why haven't I seen you doing your homework', and then, finally, asked, "Just how are you doing your assignments?!"

Harry set his bag down, pulled out some parchment and an inkpot, and set them down on a table, the inkpot on the parchment. Hermione had started babbling when he hadn't given an audible answer. She was worried that he would get in trouble for not doing his homework. He knew she was just concerned about him, so this would probably calm her down. And irritate her.

He shushed her, closed his eyes, and muttered an incantation fifteen syllables long spaced out over ten seconds. At the end he tapped his wand to the parchment. One of their assignments, Snape's ten inches on the potion he had had them brew on Thursday (a useless concoction that caused the hair on one's toes to grow), wrote itself out on the parchment.

Hermione was speechless. Harry looked like the cat that ate the canary.

Then she of course said, "Explain."

"I use my Occlumency to research what I've already read, add in any new reading I may do on that particular assignment, and then actually do the assignment itself. Since time is more subjective in my own mind, it gets done quickly. I just got tired of writing it all out every time I did an assignment. I eventually found a few scribing spells, and this one pulls the text from the caster's mind.

"I'm fairly certain that it was a deranged N.E.W.T.s student who had a knack for Occlumency similar to my own made or modified the spell."

In aftermath of this revelation Hermione refused to talk to him for a week. She never had really forgiven him for her inability to do more than the most basic Occlumency without instruction.

He was more than a little displeased with that. It wasn't his fault! And why couldn't she wait until her eventual psychotic break to stop talking to him.

* * *

Time passed in the castle as it usually did, with some of the fifth and seventh years beginning to show the signs of breakdowns due to the massive workloads the teachers were pushing on them for the upcoming exams.

The only really odd thing was Harry's condition when he would enter the common room shortly before curfew. One time he was limping and all he would say was, "Goddamn Master Shu, and his goddamn training dummy."

Another time, his clothing was smoldering, some of the edges still glowing from whatever had happened to him. He was also missing an eyebrow. When Neville asked, "What in the bleeding hell happened to you?

He only got two words in return, "Fire spells."

No one was brave enough to ask just what the hell Harry was up to. Those that even considered what he was putting himself through feared for their psyches.

* * *

Harry stared out of a Tower window onto the rain swept grounds. It had been storming on and off for the past week, and Ollie, the ever raving psychotic that he was, had had them out in it practicing just in case the next game, today's against Hufflepuff, would take place in a storm.

It was official, October was the worst month of the year. Not only because of this, but because at the first Hogsmeade weekend at the beginning of the month, McGonagall had told him and Nev that they couldn't go. It was too dangerous with the mad woman on the loose.

Even if Oliver had been right, Harry wondered how badly it would hurt House morale for the team to mutiny against their Captain.

Of course it was only three in the morning. For some reason, he had a bad feeling about the match today. He drew his wand, and started tossing it, spinning, into the air before catching it.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

He'd eaten breakfast and was trying to kill some of his nervous energy. He had more than he usually did, and the uneasy feeling he had been having had upgraded to a sense of dread. He knew something bad was likely to happen. But it was just beyond his senses. It was probably his nebulous (and so far useless) foresight acting up.

Maybe if he focused on something...

He pulled out a self-inking quill, a piece of parchment, and his book of endless notes. He cast a quick pair of spells, the first on the quill, which he then balanced on the parchment. The second he cast with the tip of his wand on his throat. He flipped his notes open to his list of spells, with careful pronunciation keys.

The spell he had used would transcribe anything he said, vocally or sub-vocally, as one would see it written as it would be pronounced.

It was something to do, if a bit tedious. Sub-vocal casting was the intermediate step to silent casting, though when he had asked a number of higher years for tips, they had just stared at him blankly. Apparently they skipped straight to silent casting at the start of N.E.W.T.s, which Harry doubted was going to do anyone much good.

* * *

Wood was giving one of his insane little speeches. Merlin knew he was a magnificent Keeper, but Harry had known since first year that Oliver was a few knuts short of a sickle. So while the mad man was raving, Harry started casting water repelling charms at his teammates. It wasn't against the rules, but then again neither was Mage Sight, which he would start using if the game made it past the three hour mark.

The captain had dragged them all down here and hour and a half early, so, barely even listening to Ollie rave, Harry examined his broom. Off the pitch, and out of the role of captain, Ollie was a perfectly likable fellow. On the pitch... you get a maniac frothing at the mouth.

Harry idly wondered if Wood had multiple personalities.

He shrugged as he added warming charms to the teams' robes. This was probably going to be a long game.

* * *

At the two and a half hour mark, Wood called for a time out. Harry had felt the charms give out on his robes an hour ago, and had not had time to reapply them, besides which, casting during play was a foul. As Ollie asked, "Okay, we need a new plan, if this goes on much longer the sun is going to start going down, and then the game is likely to take all night, anyone got any ideas?"

As the team started kicking around plans, Harry let loose a slew of the same spells he used in the locker room, adding in drying charms after the water repelling. After about three minutes he slipped his wand back in its holster, and applied a quick sticking charm to his glasses before attaching them to the inside of his robes.

Wood, finally catching Harry's attention, "Harry what was with the spells?"

"Passive charm work, so long as it is not defensive in nature, is not forbidden."

"And the fact that you took your _glasses_ off?"

"Neither is Mage Sight, but I think of it as a little unfair."

The entire time blinked at the black and red haired boy.

"Hey, the game wouldn't have lasted ten minutes if I used it. It just wouldn't be fair."

Five minutes later, Harry was racing around the pitch at breakneck speed, eyes darting back and forth. He'd given up on all play except for looking for the Snitch. And he started to feel a chill...

Except the warming charm was still holding strong. He half heard a crack of ice and felt it building on his shields.

"**Bloody** **hell**!"

A flash of lightning lit the skies, and he saw the Dementors with his Sight. He felt like being ill. And that brought the weight of how they _felt_ through his Sense crushing down.

The ice on his shields thickened in an instant.

He'd had a theory that he hoped would work, and it put it into play. Runes sprang to life on the outer most rampart of stone that was his wall and upon all the containers that he had put his worst memories in. Runes for light, heat, and fire glowed, and the weight of the ice eased, but didn't go away.

He'd bought some time, he hoped it would be enough.

He caught a glance of something that glowed with speed and elusiveness and his Sense felt like it was imbued with the feeling of the chase. Harry tore off after the Snitch. He caught bright silver things being shot out by a few of the teachers, felt the warm of the magic of the Patronus, maybe he'd go to Sirius and Remus for help with learning it. He'd read a lot on that particular charm, but he had yet to try his hand at it.

He snagged the Snitch, and seeing a Dementor move towards him, he pivoted his broom and shot straight up into the air. He was vaguely aware of his surroundings as something shot down out of the sky, he knew pain, and then blackness claimed him.

* * *

The very first thing Harry said as he came back to consciousness in the hospital wing was, "Someone tell me I was not struck by bloody lightning."

You could have heard a cricket chirp in the silence that followed. The Quidditch team, Neville, Hermione, Luna, and the Marauders were all there.

"Goddamn it. I assume it fried my broom?"

Again rousing silence.

"I'm going back to sleep."

* * *

On Monday the rain had finally stopped and he was back among the student population. Padfoot had told him not to worry about getting another broom, that he would take care of it for Christmas. He gave his word as a Marauder. That was the one time you could well and truly trust the old dog. Harry had stopped being concerned about having a broom for the next time Gryffindor played, but he still mourned the loss of his broom.

He felt it was strange that he would mourn the passing of an inanimate object. Though he would probably be right angry if something happened to his wand.

And Halloween was coming on Sunday. God he was really starting to hate October.

And he had a new name to add to his list of things to call himself. The-Boy-Who-Was-Struck-By-Lightning. He hated Fate, really he did.

* * *

By the time the weekend came again, the grounds of the castle had dried up. And when Halloween came around, Harry spent most of the day walking around the grounds, wrapped in a cloak and warming spells.

He'd packed more than enough food to last him until curfew into his backpack, and was just sitting down underneath a tree when a black cat approached him and meowed in an inquiring manner.

'Okay, now that is strange. Cat from nowhere, no tag. Odd. It looks starved, though... Can't let that continue. Even odder, it has violet eyes...'

"Hello kitty."

"Meow."

Harry pulled a sandwich from his bag and took it apart, feeding the kitty the ham from it.

"You poor thing..."

The cat crawled into his lap, and he said, "Well seeing how thin you are, and how you don't have a collar, I have to assume you don't belong to anyone."

"Meow," this one sounded rather affirmative though.

"Well, technically, since all I have are familiars, I can still have a pet... So what do you say? It might be nice to have an animal friend that doesn't talk back... or isn't of varying degrees of insanity. But then again, I can't promise I am all that sane either."

"Meow."

"I'll take that as a yes. So you need a name and a collar... How about Neko?"

He reached into his bag and pulled the strip of leather he used when he had his hair long, and started transfiguring it.

"Meow?"

"I know, it means cat, but hey, it is gender neutral and descriptive."

"Meow."

"Well, I'll take that as a 'if you can't think of anything better you silly human', and the answer is I really can't."

"Meow."

"Alright then!" He tied the collar he had just made around the cat's neck, who started purring. "Well you don't seem to be objecting too much, so... what else to talk about... Ah, how about the animal friends that actually do talk back?"

* * *

And now everyone was fairly certain Harry could not get any stranger. He had picked up a black cat from the ether, and seemed to carry on conversations with it. Conversations that the cat apparently took part in. But no one, **_no one_**, dared say anything about it.

That would only invite an earth shattering revelation along lines that no one with sanity even wanted to contemplate.

* * *

Sirius had finally gotten a Potions Master (Mistress in this case) to determine who the potions had been attuned to. But he still needed more evidence. If he was going to do what he had to, and not fail, it would need to be overwhelmingly clear and airtight. So that meant he had to read the House journals of those who had been using the potions. He hated hard work.

* * *

**A/N2: So I recycled a chapter title... it was bound to happen and it fits. So sue me.**

* * *

**Legacy:  
This is what used to be chapters 28 and 29 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.  
As of 3:20 AM, 5 November, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].**

**Chapter 28:  
Word Count: 4,096 | Character Count: 22,342 | Hits: 42,437 | Reviews: 66**

**Chapter 29:  
Word Count: 2,060 | Character Count: 10,872 | Hits: 40,707 | Reviews: 84  
**

**Totals:  
Word Count: 6,156 | Character Count: 33,214 | Hits: 83,144 | Reviews: 150  
**

**New Total Word Count: 6,844 | New Total Character Count: 37,043  
**


	11. Trial By Fire

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review. **

**The thesaurus is your friend.**

**I don't think I have stated it outright, but the posting schedule for the rewrite is twice weekly, chapters going up on Mondays and Thursdays. We'll go to a weekly schedule with Monday postings after the rewrite, maybe, _maybe_ more if I can get the buffer very full, like ten or so chapters ahead.**

**Speaking of, the buffer count is sadly still two...**

* * *

Chapter 11: Trial by Fire

Harry crawled out of bed, scratching himself. It was Monday. He had always disliked Mondays, but that had faded with the unholy hatred he now held for Octobers. He'd go back to being surly with that day of the week as soon as he figured out how to do away with his most hated month of the year.

Neko was sleeping on a fluffy cushion underneath the four-poster. Given that it was an ungodly hour in the morning, Harry got ready to face the day. At least there was never a need to fight over bathroom space at this hour. Glancing at his clock, he made a mental note of how long he was asleep. He was down to only needing two hours of sleep.

Washed and in a fresh set of clothing, Harry idly thought about the fact that he would never have to shave. And prompted by the fact, he pulled a linking book on anatomy out and started reading. He'd been able to wrest some control of his musculature, but he wanted to make sure he didn't screw anything up. He was not going to drag himself into the hospital wing and try to explain it to Pomfrey.

He had had a hard enough time when a bludgeoning spell he had been practicing with had backfired.

That and the fact that the reason why Tonks couldn't walk through a room without tripping over something was the crap she did to her center of gravity, changing all willy-nilly. Why she continued to do it, he had no idea... Its like she wanted to be a walking disaster area.

God, this book was almost as bad as some of the ones he had ready on crystalline structures. At least it was better than some of the more wordy physics texts he had read.

Most of those in years above him were mildly peeved that he made it all look so easy... The fact of the matter was that the amount of time he put into reading, rereading, contemplating, considering, and reading again, would make even the most insane of Ravenclaws blanch. Yes, he had more time when he did this in his mind. Yes, he had a photographic memory to make the initial reading go even faster. Yes, there were very few things about casting magic that actually gave him issues (he grumpily though about the Patronus he had been working on on his own, he'd go to Sirius or Moony for some help as soon the the Winter Holidays started if he didn't make any breakthroughs by then). Part of what made the rest of them look like fools was indeed the fact that he had already gone over it.

But he'd be damned if they said he wasn't working hard at his schoolwork. Yes, he had his homework done before everyone else, and yes, it only seemed like maybe five minutes for each assignment. He worked for hours on end in his mindscape lovingly crafting each and every single paper. Yes, he got all of the spells as soon as they were assigned in class, and yes, he often did them sub-vocally. He spent all the time he had before curfew working himself into various states of magical exhaustion. Yes, he made the entire class look like children when Sirius had the Defense classes square off with paint spells. He'd been doing it for over a year, and he had had martial arts pounded into him by a raving psychotic.

In fact he was _still_ getting it pounded into him. If the training dummy had actually been sentient, Harry would have called it a sadist.

And then there was the fact that he was still studying for his non-magical education, and the most of the subject matter in those books would make a good three-fourths of his housemates scratch their heads in ape-like confusion.

Furthermore, there was the fact that he was the one that the first and second years came to when they needed help, and he did it with a smile, words even Crabbe and Goyle could understand, and by speaking to each and every one of them by name.

Even before he had started needing rather inhuman amounts of sleep, he had been one of the last to bed, and one of the first to face the day. He had actually started upgrading his walks to brisk jogs, and some had started looking at him like he was a freak. He had come to the conclusion that magic had made people lazy. He was not going to let himself fall into that trap. Period.

He had maintained a desperate edge ahead of Dudley growing up, aided and abetted by his magic. He was not going to let that slip because he could now control his magic.

He briefly considered filling every bed, save those belonging to Nev, Fred, and George, with corn snakes. He grimaced and remembered that everyone knew he could talk to snakes. He would be found out instantly. Instead, he had a rather amusing idea.

* * *

He had grabbed breakfast in the kitchens. He didn't want to be the first to breakfast... And now he was sitting on an cushioning charm anchored at a comfortable sitting height, watching the Great Hall from under his invisibility cloak.

As the Lions started hauling themselves into Hall, many trying not to look anyone in the face, Harry was glad he placed the silencing charm around himself. Everyone from the third year up seemed to have decided tie-dye was the best thing **ever**. Not a single member of the house had the standard school robes, and not a single set of robes looked alike.

Strangely some of the first and second years were disappointed that they didn't have robes like everyone else. They must have felt left out. Harry would probably never explain how people behave in groups, save for a pair of axioms that at least gave him some rough understanding.

A mob is only as smart as the village idiot.

A group only moves as fast as its slowest member.

Which would probably explain a good portion of why he hated large groups of people. Evil is really rather rare.

Stupid grows on the goddamn trees in most of the world.

* * *

It was nearing the end of the day. Harry, in tie-dyed robes himself (it wouldn't do to be caught because a prank that affected the rest of Tower didn't affect him), was idly weaving about the defense classroom. He'd practiced the paint spell to the point that it was completely non-verbal casting, and he was even managing to point cast it ten percent of the time.

Anyone that actually managed to hit him ended up looking even more colorful (that was the Gryffindors, with the majority of the Snakes, he aimed for the face. The last hold outs had stopped targeting him sometime in mid-November. God some of them had been really thick).

Charms had been the usual decent class. He always managed to gain a few insights from Flitwick. Arithmancy had been even more boring than usual, since he had forgotten his linking book for that particular class in his dorm, and he had nothing to really focus his mind on. Remus had been particularly amusing with the ongoing tales of some Roman Battle Mages. The legions were brilliant, and their spellcasters even more so.

Remus had said something about training manuals they had had, and that there were a lot of incomplete versions floating around. Harry had made a mental note to go look in the master library ledger.

Now that he had gotten the rest of the class off his back, Harry started trading shots with his godfather, a feral grin lighting his face.

* * *

The day before the Holidays, Hermione cornered him. Again. She looked exhausted. That fact combined with the few disappearing acts she had pulled, and the obviousness of her temporally impossible schedule, and he could only help but think, 'who the _hell_ would give one to a thirteen year old'.

But then he started twitching, as she practically browbeat him about his apparent slacking off. Again.

Nervous breakdown or not, he was going to set at least one person in this Tower right about his work ethic, and my, my, Hermione had just volunteered.

Harry took a deep breath, and pointing to a chair, yelled, "**Hermione, shut up, sit down, and listen!**"

The other third year meeped, and put herself in the chair gestured at. Harry pulled his wand and threw up his now standard bevy of a dozen privacy charms.

"Hermione, what are the two things that I am always seen doing in the common room?"

"Reading and staring into space..."

"Reading textbooks, beginning of fifth year textbooks, among other more difficult things; and using my Occlumency to go over what I have already read. And you do remember how the books went over that time inside a person's own shields is far more subjective?"

She nodded.

"So do you think that it is quite possible that I am actually thinking very hard when I am 'staring into space'?"

Again, a nod.

"Now, as for why you are taking your mental breakdown out on me, I am not the moron who gave a thirteen year old a time-turner. Who in their right mind would give an obsessive compulsive like you a dangerous magical artifact like that just so that she can take all the electives? It is insanity! I swear you should just drop Muggle Studies. The reason you gave for wanting to take it is a fallacy. You know damn well how purebloods view the Muggle world. Now if you _**dare**_ question my work ethic again, I'll get Alistair to resort me at the soonest possible juncture!"

Dropping the privacy charms, he stalked off for the boys' dorms. At the door, he stopped and turned, "And just so you all know how I ended that little rant, the next person to question how hard I may or may not work, well, let's see how well the Gryffindor Quidditch team does when its seeker is resorted into Hufflepuff! Understand?"

* * *

Harry walked away from the room in the deserted section of the north wing that he used to practice his spellcasting, dusting frost from his robes. Almost everyone in Gryffindor had plans for this Christmas, and as grateful as he was to his guardians, he had heard horror stories about how hectic the Express was during the Winter Holidays, and he really didn't want to test his temper.

There was also the fact that sometimes he just had trouble relating to Nicolas and Perenelle. He had quite a bit more fun being around Padfoot and Moony, even though he enjoyed what the elder magical users taught him. And since both the Marauders were trying to get caught up on paperwork and grading assignments, Harry had decided he would stay at the castle again for Christmas.

* * *

Harry was limping his way toward Sirius's office (damn Master Shu, and damn his training dummy), glad that the Marauder had finally agreed to giving him lessons on the Patronus after Harry had threatened to make his underwear sing 'The Song That Never Ends'. Harry only used earworm pranks when he was irritated, and always as a savage opening shot in prank volleys that put even the worst the Marauders did when they were working together to shame.

They blamed it all on the fact that Harry had apparently inherited his mother's vicious temperament.

Neither of the pranksters wanted to know where he had gotten the two hundred gallons of treacle. They had long stopped asking about his propensity for using the substance. And what the hell was with the rhino that one time, they did not even want to know.

Harry pulled a treacle tart from his pocket and started eating it as he knocked at Padfoot's door. The door opened.

Sirius looked tired. And bored. More so than usual. It probably was a good thing. It meant he would quit rather than have the curse drive him out. Unless the curse was using the paperwork... And that was a disturbing thought. Yes, paperwork was one of the more vile things in existence, but it was only supposed to be the weapon of the bureaucrat. If others learned to wield it...

The end was nigh.

* * *

"Pup, I have no idea what you are so upset about. You are making a rather respectable Patronus. Yes, it's a cloud of silver mist, but for a third year after a few months of self-study? Bloody hell Prongslet, you are not supposed to be perfect."

Harry grunted, and idly wondered what he was doing wrong. He'd used any number of memories (save from those before Halloween 1981) and all he could get was... this. And he didn't want to use the memories he was avoiding. They hurt too damn much to even think about, let alone bring to the forefront of his mind.

So Harry shot his godfather a dirty look and made his way back to the mostly empty tower.

* * *

Christmas followed shortly after.

Hermione got some more Occlumency texts. When she came back from break rested and a little saner, she would have probably started pleading with him to try and teach her. Hopefully this would cut her off at the pass.

Neville got copies of most of his Herbological notes from the summer, cleaned up, proofed, and bound in a journal that would be able to withstand a heavy beating.

Luna, with her love of animals got three zoology books, and a promissory note to take her and her father to the London Zoo.

Fred and George were gifted some lab equipment. Mostly of the safety variety. Since they seemed to share a brain, losing brain cells from explosions was a constant danger.

People in return got him books. Books he already had access to. He appreciated the thought.

The one exception was the gift Sirius had gotten him. His new broom, which he insisted on delivering face to face.

As Harry ripped the wrappings off the oddly shaped package (why did no one ever put brooms in boxes? Seriously, it would make things so much easier), and he gasped.

"Bloody hell Sirius. When I saw the brand in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies and it said 'price on request'... that sort of thing means damn expensive."

"Yeah, pup, but I owe you for Christmases and birthdays starting from Christmas of '81 to your birthday in '91. This is to make up for a decade of missed spoiling from having a rich arse godfather."

Harry chuckled as he beheld the Firebolt before him.

* * *

As people slowly filtered back into the common room after the end of the holidays, most saw something they had never expected, Harry was neither reading nor meditating. In fact, he was lying down on a couch, holding a what the muggleborn would recognize as a Rubik's Cube. The purebloods were just confused at what he was doing.

Also give the fact that there was a small mound of scrambled cubes and three or four solved ones, they figured this for just more insanity of his. After all, everyone knew Potter to be insane.

And so, over the next month, they watched as it became apparent that Harry had cut back, drastically, on the amount of work he had been working on, in favor of playing with his strange colored cubes.

When Hermione sat down next to him in the common room one night, when he was idly working on a cube that had dimensions of four blocks a side, she said, "What happened to the hard work?"

"I was being a hypocrite. I pointed out that all you were doing was work, and seriously," he paused to put up privacy spells, "you need to give the time turner back. You're turning enough to go to class and get your work done, but not enough to be able to back that extra time up. You need more time to eat, sleep, and relax with the more work you do, and are not many time turners that exist that are strong enough to go more than," he paused for a minute as a look of deeper concentration crossed his face and he bobbed his head from side to side, "Eight hours, and those tend to be made with dark methods. But I digress, I've been taking January easy, and I'll go back to something roughly resembling my prior pace, but I'll still take time to work on various puzzles."

"That is something else I've been meaning to ask," she said as she scrunched up her nose, "Where'd you get them all? You stayed at the castle over the Holidays..."

"Oh, the rules state that students staying on campus during holidays can leave if they have supervision. I threatened both Remus and Sirius with thirteen separate pranks involving my favorite of all foodstuffs. They took me to London on three separate occasions."

"Ah. I'm not even going to ask what it is with you and treacle. I am however going to say it is a bit unusual, and leave it at that." She looked about as there was a loud bang and a pair of indignant shouts.

Harry, quickly dropping his privacy spells, raised his voice without ever looking in the direction of the incident, "And that, Fred and George, will teach you to stay out of my things. Just because you failed to get in my trunk does not mean I was willing to let it slide."

One of the twins was now wearing a large chicken suit, with a large cardboard sign with the letters KFC. The other was dressed in a immaculate white suit, a white goatee, and white hair. That chicken place Remus had taken him to had been really good.

Sighing, Hermione turned back to him and said, "There was one last thing I wanted to talk to you about, Harry. I saw a bunch of Hufflepuffs cornering you a few times over the past few weeks..."

"And they were trying to figure out the validity of the threat that I leveled at Gryffindor before the Holidays. And yes, I was serious. And yes, I could get myself resorted into Hufflepuff. And I told them that. I told them if anyone in my own house questioned my work ethic again, I would no longer owe Gryffindor my loyalty. Because respect and loyalty are earned, not given. Remember that Hermione. You still have a few... issues regarding authority figures."

She blushed and got up, no longer looking at him. She then strode off toward the girls' dorms. Harry shrugged and continued working on his puzzle. They were actually very relaxing, while also being decent practice at performing Occlumentic techniques while doing something.

* * *

Standing outside of the Transfiguration classroom a few weeks later, waiting for the class to start, Harry was staring intently at a rubber ball in his hand. A few people were wondering just why the hell he was having a staring contest with an inanimate object.

Then the ball floated upward a few inches, and remained there. Harry slowly grew more red in the face, and then he blinked. The ball fell back into his hand and he pocketed it, panting heavily.

He pulled out a Rubik's cube and started playing with it, his eyes flicking at all the people staring at that display of wandless magic.

"What are you all gawking at? I worked very hard to learn to do that, besides, it is only the beginning..."

The maniacal laughter emotionally scarred most of those present. Hermione and Neville just ignored him.

* * *

A week after the first Quidditch game of the new year (The 'Puffs kicked Snake butt, much to Harry's pleasure (and the bribes they were starting to levy to get Harry to switch Houses were starting to get a little scary, it's not often fourteen year-olds offer up their firstborn)), and Harry was idly sorting through the past few few weeks of information. He was starting to run out of new and interesting things in the most of the fifth year curriculum to play with, though a few subjects were starting to catch his eye.

Certain possibilities screamed for further development.

Aside from that, his mental defenses were starting to become a little unnerving. Even for him. And last week he had metamorphed himself into what he generally believed Ronald's and Malfoy's lovechild would look like and had pictures taken to taunt the pair with. So that is saying something. What, no sane person knows, but it is something at the very least.

But onto unnerving defenses, the mazes were starting to become more fluid... The already alien geometries of them twisting into further madness, and Alistair finally introduced the use of traps to maim and kill, though it wouldn't likely be a permanent death. What happened most often when a legilimencer was 'killed' in another person's mind was a very forceful and painful ejection that would leave them wide open for a counterattack in the physical world.

And mentioning traps, the ones currently in place would move in seemingly random ways, never remaining in one place too long. And the beasts, he had finally set a few of them loose in the defenses, and they had multiplied like goddamn rabbits.

And that vorpal bunny he had created had gotten loose and that was not going to end well for anyone.

And thinking of that the 'schematics' for its creation popped on to the desk for his perusal. Which was actually something rather new, and extremely disturbing. A few weeks ago, his interior recall had suddenly gone from 'ahh that's where I put it' to 'when the hell did it get in my hand'.

Eying the plans with distaste (he knew that bunny was either going to save his life at one point, or bite him in the ass (or possibly both)), he closed his eyes and shifted sideways, into his magical core.

It had taken this long to map his core, and be able to tell all of the different components of it apart at a glance. He wanted to be absolutely certain he knew what was what before he started shifting things about.

But then again, it was (at least in his eyes) a maelstrom the size of the freaking castle. He idly flicked his eyes about, seeing the seven vortices of energy that spun clockwise (three gold, three green, one white), the three counter-clockwise vortices (one each gold, green, and red), and the three crystalline pillars (all a pale blue).

Just what the hell was he supposed to do with this chaotic mess?

* * *

Harry laughed his head off as he remembered the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw Quidditch game. He had caught the Snitch inside of five minutes, and that was ignoring what his Sight and (hopefully) his Sense were screaming at him.

Seriously though, the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho something-or-other, pretty face, sore loser. She was stamping her foot on the pitch and crying after the match.

He'd commit acts that would be considered sins against nature, humanity, and god, on his own person before he would ever think of spending time with the girl. He was ever so grateful that he had decided not belong to that particular peer group.

But then again, the Lions were starting to irritate him again. They never said anything to his face, but some of the looks and whispers were starting to get his paranoia up. And this coming from the guy who has placed wards around his bed to ensure the Twins remained out of his things.

Oh, and thinking of that, and Quidditch, he needed to prepare a little... something, for victory celebration of next month's game... But what to do... What to do...

The grin that lit his face gave most of the older students panic attacks. The first and second years were wondering what would make their favorite tutor so insanely happy. There was a slight stirring in the ambient magic and a few people could not help but hum a few bars of 'I'm Henery the Eighth, I Am'. Others wept. It was nearing the end of another winter term.

* * *

A clear, sunny day, and Harry was sitting under a tree, idly twirling his wand, humming a little tune. Slytherin had gotten a rather epic two hour beat down the day before; Wood denying the opposing Chasers every single attempt; the Twins playing an insane game of tennis with the Bludgers, causing all of the Slytherins to scatter every few minutes; Katie, Angelina, and Alicia working together flawlessly, making a complete fool of the enemy Keeper; and all aided and abetted by Harry, Chasers scattered whenever they managed to rally, Beaters charged during attempts to aim, and the Keeper unsighted during goal attempts.

There had been more than a few scouts there with their eyes on the sixth and seventh years, of which there was only one on the Gryffindor side, Ollie. And a number of them had been quite taken with the Gryffindor team, and had put forth offers for various teams' summer training camps for those that were sixteen or older. Sadly leaving Katie and Harry out of it

Thank god he would not have to play with Ollie as a captain anymore. Thank the heavens for small favors. And for upcoming pranks against the Snakes...

A grin split Harry's face from ear to ear.

A voice in his head giggled, and said, 'Oh it is going to be fun when it kicked off...'

He pulled out the blue Animagus journal and started reading the section that described how to find your form...

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, a song started playing, coming from everywhere, but nowhere in particular.

"_Day-o, Day-ay-ay-o_

_Daylight come and me wan' go home_

_Day, me say day, me say day, me say day_

_Me say day, me say day-ay-ay-o_

_Daylight come and me wan' go home..."_

And then the entire Slytherin house table started reenacting parts of a scene from the movie Beetlejuice. The entire hall watched on in sheer confusion as when the song ended, the Snakes started a conga line out into the grounds.

Harry, however, barely managed to keep a straight face. _'Must not laugh, for laughter shall land me __into detention until two years __**after**__ I take my NEWTs.'_

* * *

Harry was idly relaxing, completely and totally alone, on the grounds on a late April late afternoon. Where as the rest of the castle was buckling down for exams, and every day a few more people were checking themselves into the Hospital Wing for panic attacks and stress induced illness, Harry was once more looking for spells that fell under a specific category.

Fire.

It had been a few weeks since he had found anything really interesting, so he stuffed that book away and pulled out on on anatomy, before he started thinking of the sheer volume of spells he had found.

One would be quite surprised at the sheer volume magic that fall under the category of having a component with that particular element. Thank goodness for the pyromaniacs throughout history. This also made Harry wonder, since if fire is good, and explosions are better, just how many spells are there that made things go boom. That would be an interesting way to kill time this summer.

He turned a page in the anatomy book (he was running out of new things to learn about the human body too... Note to self, bug Padfoot about Black family notes on Metamorphs, maybe there is something new and different there), and was suddenly hit with a series of sensations that threw him into a hyper-alert state.

**:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:. The Third Time Fated Strands Converge: The Vile Darkness .:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:**

The temperature dropped precipitously, such that from one exhale being normal and the inhale of a pleasant spring day, to the next making a visible mist of his breath and a biting gasp of frigid air into his lungs. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, joined shortly thereafter by the hair on his forearms. And most distinctly, an ice cold pressure started exerting itself on his mental shields, while the late afternoon sunlight seemed to fade to mid evening instantly.

"Oh bugger..."

He whipped off his glasses, dropping them into a pocket, while drawing his wand with his next movement. And started silently cursing himself for not being able to produce a proper Patronus. This was going to end very badly if plans 'kill it with fire' and 'uncork pre-Dursley memories' both failed.

He started swearing, he really didn't want his soul to end up as a snack for some filthy creature...

* * *

All across the castle, every last occupant could hear a female voice yelling as if raising an alarm... And how alarming the message was...

"_**DEMENTORS ON THE GROUNDS!"**_

* * *

His eyes flickered about, tracking three separate groups of Dementors, all of them closing in on him. Perfect. Just wonderful. On the one day, every other living being is in the castle, and here he is as far as you can be from an entrance to the castle...

"Fate hates me. That has to be it. I can explain it no other way. Fate hates my god forsaken guts. Bah, worry about that later... If only for the fact that I hope to be aware to worry about it..."

He then started running down the list of spells, and what a list it was. And it also gleaned him a few little known facts about fire magics.

First, that unless components are included to direct and sustain the flames, the fire will still have to do business with physics, meaning that the majority of magics for use are confined to short to mid range.

Second, unless otherwise fueled solely by the spell, the fire still requires the oxygen/fuel sides of the fire triangle to continue burning. The primary result of this is that using large scale fire spells in enclosed spaces is best classified as suicide. A secondary result of this is when using fire magics in areas with few combustibles, the fires made tend to die out quickly.

Third, there were always exceptions to facts one and two.

He pulled one of the exceptions to both facts out of his spell arsenal. 'Fire darts', maximum range, about forty-five meters, self-sustaining until extinguished, either by water or oxygen deprivation.

He fired off two volleys of six at each of the incoming groups, not stopping to check his handiwork until the last shot was fired, and he was coming back to face the first group.

As he faced them, he noticed three or four hits, and saw the struck figures had slowed, if only slightly. Given that the general heat of a fire dart was barely enough to light very dry wood, it was to be expected. Its original use was during medieval warfare to mark targets for archers during seiges.

But it worked as a proof of concept. Fire could hurt them.

The unwounded Dementors sped up, getting closer and closer to their first meal in months, though the only emotion they could feel from it was a grim determination.

* * *

Remus and Sirius had been sitting together in the former's office, going over stacks of homework and tests, with Sirius cursing McGonagall for roping him into doing this 'job'. He'd be tendering his resignation after the last final was graded.

He was also glad that he had finally pushed through the other paperwork he had spent the year toiling over. It would still be a few weeks to process all of it and get everything in motion, but if things went as expected... Well, it may very well be worth all of the non-school related tedium he had been through.

When the shout sounded through the castle, they both froze for half a minute, simply staring at each other. And, being the long time friends they were, and both being pseudo-guardians of a rather unfortunate young man, they reacted in the same way.

They both yelled, "Harry!", and bolted out the office door, knowing deep down that 'Fate's butt monkey' (as Harry sometimes referred to himself as) would be in the single most dangerous place.

* * *

He took a few deep breaths, knowing that if he was going to be able to do this, he'd have to pull out all the stops... and he only had half a minute before the Dementors entered the maximum range of his long range spells.

He flowed down into his mindscape, and shifted over to his core. He then kicked open his connection (a simple visualization of a bit of pipe with an iris valve and a crank wheel to adjust the size) to his magic as far as he felt comfortable. He knew if he opened it too far, his magic would 'burn' hotter and brighter, but it wouldn't last as long as he might need it to.

It had been one of the things he had spent the past few months working on, and he still wasn't entirely sure of his limits.

Besides which, he was fairly certain that if he started throwing his magical aura off into the visible spectrum, that may just drive the demons into a feeding frenzy.

'There, the first ones just entered my range. Well, here is to landscaping via incendiaries.'

Harry dropped into the position he had come to define as his own dueling stance. His feet were spread a decent distance, his wand hand kept low, the tip of his weapon tracing lazy figure-eights, his other arm held relaxed at his side, and his upper body held loosely. All of his muscles were relaxed, but ready to explode into movement.

He muttered to himself, "Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war..."

The demons closed in on their prey, not caring that his eyes had started glowing like emeralds held up to the noonday sun.

And then the unnatural darkness became filled with firelight.

* * *

The surviving Marauders ran down the corridors of the school, making a mad dash for the nearest exit onto the grounds, one of the lesser known sally ports that let out near the greenhouses. They had to wade through the occasional group of students making their way to a common room, slightly panicked at the sudden announcement.

"We've gotten far too out of shape, Moony."

"I can't help but agree, Padfoot."

They finally burst through the doors, and started running for the once place they could be certain that Fate's most disfavored child would be. The point farthest from the safety any of the castle's doors offered.

* * *

Panting slightly, Harry finished up the current chain of fire spells, taking a quick tally of his handiwork. There were a few Dementors here and there that had visible portions on fire, and he thought that he felt a few that were retreating through his Mage Sense, but this many of the foul things were starting to clog what range he had been able to gain. It was like a bank of aerosolized oil hanging in the air.

He muttered a trio of attempts at the Patronus spell, all of them failing to get more than a strong mist. He grunted at this failure, and mentally shuffled for a few more memories to try for his next attempts, though he kept the last attempt active, and kept enough focus on it to wrap it around him. The chill of the dementors loosened on him, if only by a little.

The black cloaked monsters moved into mid range, and Harry smiled a feral smile, incanting the next series of spells. Hopefully he would start doing actual with the fire magics before the things moved into close range.

Besides which, he had started noting how different spells effected the creatures. Some that should have been devastating on a purely physical level were shrugged off, and others that were meant to be used solely for support purposes sent the things running.

He nodded to himself with a sudden decision. A few facts and observations were falling into place, and there may be one spell that would do the most damage... He'd do two separate spells that he wanted to give a try as they neared the end of mid range, and failing any major effect from those spells, he'd crack open his memories of his mother and father, and then start spamming the one bit of pyromancy he was now sure would work.

* * *

They kept running, adrenalin and fear keeping them moving when all their bodies wanted to do was slow down. When they finally came around to the far side of the castle, they were faced with a sight that both worried and confused them.

What appeared to be the almost half of the detachment of Dementors assigned to the school were converging on one point. They could see the frost along the ground near the things, and there were so many, they couldn't tell what they were trying to surround.

But as if to counter that, they could see some of the creatures fleeing, their black cloaks in flames. And with that rather obvious clue, because they had never heard anyone else put forth the theory that the Dementors were possibly vulnerable to fire. Harry was definitely in trouble and their worry kicked up a few notches.

They slid to a stop, unsure of what to do. If they sent out their own Patroni, they could just very well just force the Dementors closer to Harry. Then there was the fact that there were so many of the things that the spell may just fizzle out before it had any effect.

Sirius just grinned, seeing the lights that indicated a volley of literal spell'fire', and decided to add his own into the mix, with Remus catching the drift of the 'plan', and putting in a few of his own.

* * *

Tiring a bit, Harry let loose one last set of ineffectual attempts at the Patronus. He cursed, taking a few deep breathes. He was actually starting to recognize the emotions each memory represented.

Mild happiness. Fondness. A smidgeon of amusement.

A Patronus needed the deepest depths of positive human emotion. Joy. Love. Hope. Emotions he could only remember, remember in memories that caused him deep pain from the loss he felt with them.

There was nothing he could do about it though, so he muttered, "I'm probably going to need a therapist after this..."

He cracked open every last memory he had that he associated with his mother, pulling every last feeling he had of being loved to the forefront of his mind.

He felt the yard thick layer of ice crushing down on his defenses shatter outwards, the pressure on his mind disappearing in an instant.

The Dementors crossed from mid range to close range.

He smiled sadly as he felt wetness at the corners of his eyes, and then the first tears he could remember shedding in years fell.

Harry drew himself up to his full height, and drawing his wand back with a wide, backwards arc as he forced power into it, before roaring out the words,as he thrust his wand forth, "_**EXPECTO PATRONUM!**_"

* * *

Padfoot and Mooney skidded to a halt as they heard the spelled yelled out, eying each other with curiosity. Their jaws then dropped as a silver shape rammed into the circle of Dementors from the inside, knocking the demons aside as though they were rag dolls.

Seeing an opening, they both sent out their own Patroni, a wolf and a grim, in an attempt to buy Harry some breathing room.

* * *

Huffing out a weak chuckle, Harry let out a last volley of fire spells, gauging the results, and settling in on the course of action to take. The Dementors had slowed with his casting of what they believed was the only thing capable of harming them.

There was only one fire spell that Harry was in awe of. One spell that he considered a masterwork of spellcraft. Not that it could be considered a single spell by most definitions (or that he had very much experiance), being more along the lines of a binary spell that had many, _many_ different primary and secondary components.

The first part was nothing more or less than a set what any muggleborn or raised would call a pilot light. Though there were a half a dozen separate ones of varying intensity. Ranging from barely hot reds, to blindingly bright and searing whites.

The second was a series of spell parts that could describe air-fuel mixtures, containment arrays (which were almost always will enforced), and shutoff commands. This allowed a mage with a good enough memory, fast enough hands, and quick enough tongue, to throw together a wide combination of fire attacks at the drop of a hat.

It had last been used before the Statue of Secrecy went in place, for the sheer reason that its name described its almost sole use.

Warfire.

It also had one other component. It was used as a purifying flame. If an area had a magical battle take place, and the earth itself became cursed because someone used some very black magic, it would be put to the flame with this spell, and all trace of the damage would be gone, burned away with all else.

His feral grin returned as he spoke the three syllables for the hottest pilot light, a violently bright white thing that seemed to flicker greedily for air. His eyes took on a manic gleam as he uttered the five syllables for the most volatile fuel mixture and the tightest containment he knew, while bearing his will down on the shape the fire would take.

As he pushed his magic down his wand, three loose rows of runes, already lightly etched into the wood from his previous casting, flashed into existence upon the magic focus, each row twisting ever so slightly to the right, ending at the tip directly above where the row adjacent started.

When the spell ripped free of the wand, a bright white bar of fire so thick it almost seemed solid slammed into a Dementor, lighting it up lack a gasoline soaked rag. It screamed in a voice that could only be described as unholy.

And Harry braced the wrist of his current wandhand with his other hand, and started to swing the beam of fire in an arc that would light up more of the demons, as a pair of Patroni started circling him.

* * *

Remus and Sirius stared wide eyed as they saw Dementors killed. They were frozen in astonishment for a moment. And so were the Dementors.

Then the things came to their collective senses and fled, turning and scampering as though they seemed to have just one mind.

The Marauders ran to Harry as he dropped to one knee, and his own Patronus returned to him. The lioness nuzzled his face before dissolving into a silvery mist. Harry turned to face the two pranksters.

All Sirius could say was, "Harry, why the hell are your eyes glowing?"

He didn't get an answer because Harry stopped fighting and let himself slip into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

He woke up in the Hospital Wing. He hated the Wing. He looked around, no wand... no pants. Goddamn it.

Ever since he had taken to escaping the Wing as soon as possible, Madam Pomfrey had been coming up with ways to keep him in the Wing. The first involved taking his pants and leaving him with pajamas that no one would be caught dead in.

When he had started transfiguring himself something that he could wear, she had started taking his wand.

He grinned a maniacally.

"Time to work on wandless summoning spells."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later:

"You'll never take me alive, Madam Pomfrey!"

* * *

It was one A.M. and he was bored out of his mind. Two weeks left til summer holidays, and he had run out of things to keep him busy.

So here he was, pacing back and forth in the Common Room, idly twirling his wand, muttering, "What to do, what to do, what to do..."

His eyes caught on the runes on his wand. He'd been idly studying the runes themselves, but was having issues identifying them... but what about...

He grinned and pulled out his one of master ledgers and said, "Wandcraft. AND. Wandlore."

This should take some time.

* * *

The morning after the Leaving Feast had finally arrived. Reading the Daily Prophet, Harry just nodded to himself, and passed it to Neville.

Reading the headline story, Neville just shook his head and put his face in his hands. When Hermione opened her mouth to ask a question, Harry just took the paper and handed it to.

She read it and just got a confused look on her face, and said, "So..."

Harry held up a hand for silence and prodded Nev with his other hand, "Do you want to explain all, some, or none of it?"

Neville mumbled through his hands, "Some."

Nodding, Harry began "Do you remember why Nev and I were confined to the castle this year?"

She nodded.

"Did you ever wonder why the hell is this Black afterNeville?"

Again she nodded quite eagerly.

"Well, the crime she and three others were convicted of was using Unforgivables against Nev's parents. And that I believe is the minimum amount of understanding needed... at least that is what I think. Nev?"

He nodded.

"So, it would probably be best..."

Hermione broke in with a wan smile, "If I just dropped it? Can do..."

Harry blinked a few times in surprise. 'Well, what do you know...'

And all thoughts were interrupted as Sirius set off a rather loud spell, and in the following silence he yelled, "I cannot take the paperwork anymore. **I quit!**"

* * *

The train ride was, as always, uneventful. They played Exploding Snap, talked with a few of their classmates who dropped by (mainly Lions and 'Puffs (who were still bribing Harry to switch Houses), with a few 'Claws mixed in). They talked mainly about what they had planned for their summer vacations. Harry had no clue what-so-ever. Neville wanted to putter around his greenhouses. Hermione had some reading she wanted to catch up on.

Malfoy entered the compartment with a sneer on his face, and all he accomplished was to make an arse of himself, and got his robes turned chartreuse for his troubles. Before he managed to even say anything. Amazingly, he got the point and left.

Ronald decided to try where Draco failed, and was preempted with a curse that made him do the can-can. Harry turned his hair DayGlo pink and shoved him out.

One seemed to be learning, but the other seemed to have the mind of a concussed troll...

* * *

Walking into the Marauder's Manor with Neko in his arms, Harry made his way up to the bedrooms. He had written to Uncle Nic and Aunt Pen to stay for a few days before going to their home.

The top floor now had six rooms (and therefore that many suites) and he opened the door to the one adjacent to Tonks's. The room was tastefully painted and decorated in various shades of purple, which had Harry smiling slightly as he set the cat down on the bed.

"Clothing is where they obviously should be stored and I'm fairly certain you can find your bathroom. Dinner is at five."

He went to the door, pulling the morning's paper from his pocket, and putting it on a table near the door.

"Though I would like to eventually know why the hell you decided to follow me around Bella, I will say this. Welcome home."

As the door closed, the cat shifted into a woman of medium height, though she looked like someone who was recovering after a long illness. She had a rather cross look on her face, and yelled at the door, "You cheeky brat!"

**Here Ends Book III**

* * *

Interlude: Puppet-strings and Dissonance

Everything sharpened into crystal clarity. He saw the events that had driven him into exhaustion that late April, and alongside them played events that seemed to have only a parallel of involving Dementors. The evening played through twice, the first showed a loyal little weapon forged with the pain of nearly losing something so recently gained, while the second showcased said weapon showing just how clearly he wore his heart on his sleeve.

Right where anyone could destroy it.

While what he actually did showed the beginnings of an actual warrior.

And once more, he sensed a meddling old man who watched on, and did nothing when he could have simply pulled a few strings, and made the lives of all those involved brighter. But no, he had a Greater Good to serve, and damn those he thought must be sacrificed.

Harry felt a slight jerk to the left, heard murmuring, and forced himself to try and hear every word.

"... joking right? *Sighs* There are days..."

"... never read the Charter? Why did I ever..."

"... once! Once I would like Murphy to..."

"... life is of no concern to you, you nosy..."

"... last refrain, bring down the barriers..."

"... I really don't have a clue. I only know..."

Sitting up and pulling out a journal, Harry mused over what the hell he had seen and heard. Things were finally starting to become clear. And he almost recognized the voice of whoever was talking during the finally moments of the... whatever it was.

* * *

**A/N2: Getting further ahead is hard, stuff keeps popping up in RL. Gonna keep trying though. What was written of book 4 in Sorting Hat's Stand is going to amount to eight chapters, so with the buffer of two, that is six more chapters in the rewrite.**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 30 through 32 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of noon, 8 November, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open **

**Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: **

**[br].)**

**Chapter 30:**

**Word Count: 2,200 | Character Count: 11,936 | Hits: 46,500 | Reviews: 74**

**Chapter 31:**

**Word Count: 1,850 | Character Count: 10,178 | Hits: 41,662 | Reviews: 68**

**Chapter 32:**

**Word Count: 3,400 | Character Count: 18,817 | Hits: 46,415 | Reviews: 87**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 7,450 | Character Count: 40,932 | Hits: 134,577 | Reviews: 229**

**New Total Word Count: 8,346 | New Total Character Count: 45,897**

**[br]**

**(Hits and Reviews are recalculated at the posting of this chapter and so may not match with data previously given.)**

**Book Totals:**

**Old: Word Count: 23,256 | Character Count: 125,989 | Hits: 308,218 | Reviews: 516**

**New: Word Count: 27,364 | Character Count: 148,556**


	12. Summer's Dawn

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review.**

**Been having a hard week. Any time that I had which could have been used for writing was rather sorely needed to veg out, and writing is a bit too energy intensive. This chapter is only being posted because of the buffer, which even if I keep getting hammered still has enough for Thursday's chapter as well.**

**I did get some thinking done, some daydreaming while I rested as it were, and the second author's note, for those who are interested, contains the rough blueprint for a crossover that has been bubbling in the back of my head for a few weeks.**

**This chapter should also be accompanied by some fixes in my abuse of the English language in chapters 10 and 11.  
**

* * *

**Vocal key:**

"**English"**

**^German^**

**{French}**

**|Bulgarian|**

**~Parseltongue~**

***Familiar Speech***

* * *

Chapter 12: Summer's Dawn

**Being Events in an Alteration of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire**

Harry had forgotten one very important thing about planning... That you should actually think ahead when doing it. So, having gotten an O in potions for his third year, he started brewing. But now he had three or four potions too many going in the workroom he had claimed in Marauders' Manor, it was unusable for anything other than potions he already had brewing (and even then he had to have bubblehead charm up when he entered the room, he really needed to get some ventilation spells going in there), so he currently was spread out on the dining room table, with four or five hours to go until dinner.

He was currently working on what he knew of conjuration, more specifically the permanent variations. The first he had run across was for medium sized and larger objects, those that had mass greater than a stereotypical concrete masonry unit, all that can be done is pump more magical energy into it when it is being made. Then depending on the complexity of the object, the materials it is made out of, and the mass, it will last as long as it will last. Little else could be done for objects that size conjured all at once.

Now for the objects that size or smaller, there are a number of techniques. One was a series of permanency spells that, when properly anchored by the correct runes, will ensure that the object will last as long as the materials it is made of will survive. Outright magical materials were impossible to conjure in any form, people having died attempting to conjure some fairly strange things. Calling forth raw materials to work with was a horse of a different color, though it was one Harry took to eagerly researching, but that was also a contemplation for another time.

All of this was centered around the fact that the endless journal that he had gotten from Moony was getting so much use that he couldn't really keep track of his notes anymore. So he had a number of identical brown leather-bound journals and a bunch of glass capsules the size peanuts in front of him.

Of course, the permanency spells wouldn't be the only ones he would be adding. He needed to make sure the journals themselves had a near infinite number of pages, then he was going to take advantage of various dictation spells he had found by anchoring a one of them (this one had no need for a quill or other writing implement) to the books, four of the glass capsules (with slightly expanded interiors) were put into each book with four different color inks (black, red, blue, and green) which would never run out due to an anchored refilling charm, and there were a few other additions that he was mulling over.

He was also seriously wondering at why the hell many of his magical classmates were complaining about their parents wouldn't get them things, especially when it seemed so very easy for Harry to make his own. Granted most were probably on the wrong side of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. But he really need to take into account his neurotic behavior.

Journals that would make anything else look absolutely pedestrian. Of course, it would take a bit of work to get off the ground, but so worth it. And if they really worked out, he might make a few as either a birthday or Christmas present for Hermione.

* * *

And, done. That makes two dozen, he'd probably never have to do this again, ever. As for those who has why the hell he would need that many endless journals? Well, you wouldn't want to put notes for the transfiguration of complex crystalline structures a few dozen pages before the recipe for a flesh dissolving potion and directly after your notes on healing spells, now would you? And as for the reason for why a person with perfect memory would need journals? Well, first there was the fact that having highly organized notes would make sharing research with Hermione easier and second, well, no one lives forever.

There was a sigh in the back of his head and he heard, _'Stop being so damn morbid, Harry...'_

And his timing had never been better, dinner smelled like it was almost ready. Awesome. He started cleaning up the mess he had made when a former resident of Azkaban walked into the room... Wait, that wasn't as descriptive as it used to be. There were now two former Azkabanians in the Manor... Well, anyway, the only female resident of the Manor came in, and hit Harry upside the head with what felt like a rolled up newspaper.

"Hey, Bella, why are you abusing that paper? I figured you might like to frame it... or something. After all, the headline is declaring your innocence for all the world to see. Oh yeah, Sirius and Remus won't be here for a few more days."

"Cheeky brat."

"You already called me that, got anything new and different in the way of insults?"

She glared at Harry for a good half a minute before saying, "I've got questions for you..."

"And I for you, share and share alike?"

"But who goes first?"

Harry smirked, and pulled what looked like a galleon from his pocket and started walking it across his knuckles, "You know, among goblins there is no better arbiter of fate than a coin toss. And they see it as a constant joke to us that all the goblin minted currency has identical Gringotts seals on both sides. So I asked my account manager, what a wizard was to do, and he tossed me this coin." He held it up for her to see. One side was the unmarred Gringotts seal, the reverse was almost identical, save for a gouge mark across the face. "He then told me that goblin currency had one face that was beautiful beyond measure, and the reverse was a horror. Fate, for good or ill. So, Bella, call it. Seal or scar?"

He flipped the coin up in air.

"Seal."

He caught the coin out of the air, and slapped it down on the back of his hand, and pulled the obscuring fingers out of the way. He grinned.

She pouted and said, "Brat."

"That is getting really old, really fast Bella."

"Yeah, yeah, ask your question..."

The kitchen elves started popping in with dinner.

"Why'd you seek me out when you escaped, instead of fleeing?"

"Easy. I felt I owed your mother. I wasn't actually a Slytherin in school. I was a 'Claw. Aside from that fact, your mother had another friend who was a Slytherin, so we could have ended up friends anyway. The Blacks would grudgingly accept children being sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Slytherin. Though heaven forbid if I had been a Lion or 'Puff, though. That being said, Lily was my best friend in school, and if... what had happened to me didn't occur, I probably would have been your godmother. So, even if I couldn't be there as a normal person, I'd be around to protect you if it was ever needed. How did you know I was innocent?"

"The Lestrange brothers kept rather detailed records, the problem was sorting through all of it. The fact that they had over a thousand doses of the numerous potions they were giving you was also a dead giveaway. Took Padfoot almost half a year to find an independent Potions Mistress to break them down to see who they were bound to though. He wanted the evidence to be airtight. I think I figured out how you escaped the mental damage from what I've managed to drag from Sirius about his stay in the island fortress, but how'd you get out?"

"You already know how being in an animal form weakens the mental damage of Dementors. Well, I was probably the only person in Azkaban who came out saner that when they were put in. After I had... dried out from the... crap that they had me on, I resigned myself to my fate, only idly planning an escape. But when I got my hands on a copy of the Daily Prophet where the front page picture was you posing with the corpse of a rather large Basilisk. It lit a fire in my head, and the idle plans solidified. Of course, a cat could easily slip between the bars of the window. The rest was rather easy. How long did it take for you to figure out I wasn't a real cat?"

"Immediately."

She growled out the next word, it sounded quite threatening, "Explain."

"Mage Sight and Sense. I've seen two animagi in their transformed states, and McGonagall was also a cat. That and the feel of the magic around you were entirely too human. It was hop, skip, and minor deductive leap to figure out who you were. So, what is your plan now?"

"Recover. Why'd you talk to me like you did? You practically told me your life story..."

"Needed someone to talk to. I didn't want to burden my... friends, my familiars are entirely too mouthy, and the fact that any chance of you talking back was far enough into the future to be worth what was at that point, a chance to get a lot of things off my chest..."

"Did it help?"

He smiled sadly and held his thumb and forefinger three inches apart, "A bit. I'm out of questions, you got any more?"

"How big was the snake anyway."

"About thirty meters."

They had been eating as they had been speaking, and had managed to get through half of the meal just fielding questions and returning answers. Harry noted that it was meatloaf and mash. The elves always made good food.

* * *

Two days later Harry was once more spat out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron.

He picked himself up off the ground, and dusted himself off, saying,"I hate traveling by the godforsaken Floo."

Grumbling to himself about the inadequacies of wizarding transportation, he made his way to the Alley. He had to make a trip to the apothecary to stock up on potion ingredients, he idly toyed with the idea of getting his clothes shopping for the year out of the way now (but then he promptly threw it in the trash where it belonged, though truth be told he would probably have the time to get it out of the way if what he was going to be doing took as long as he feared), he had his trunk in his pocket and he would be seeing about getting some more compartments added to it, and of course, he had to stop by Ollivander's to see about the runes that had appeared on his wand.

So, he made his way to the one that could either take the longest in the worst case, or the shortest in the best case, Ollivander's. The bell on the door rang as Harry stepped into the shop.

"Ahh, Mr. Potter, I wasn't expecting on seeing you for a long time yet, may I ask what brings you into my shop?"

Harry pulled his wand out of its holster and handed it to the wandmaker, "Of course Mr. Ollivander, something... strange happened with my wand. Three rows of runes appeared on it, I did some research, but I wanted to be sure..."

Ollivander took the proffered wand, and examined it in minute detail for several minutes, whispering to himself in what Harry thought sounded vaguely like Ancient Egyptian (which he had idly started studying, but was having issues learning due to a lack of source material), he then straightened before going to the front of the shop, locking the door, and flipping the sign from 'Open' to 'Closed', before finally saying, "Yes, yes, it has been a few decades since something of this sort has occurred. Would you like to share your theory with me, Mr. Potter, or would you prefer to hear what has happened from me?"

"I would prefer to learn what has taken place with my wand from the man who has been studying wandcrafting and lore for all of his professional life."

"Quite wise, Mr. Potter, quite wise. Come, join me in the back. I am going to need your input for the start of this process, and I can easily explain while I work," the strange old man said while disappearing into the what was probably his workshop. Harry snorted, shrugged, and then ambled after the wandmaker.

The back of the shop had several workbenches with tools, each workbench seeming devoted to a different material. There were three that were focused on different aspects of woodworking, but there was also benches for leather, metal, gems, and even cloth. There were numerous cabinets, probably where all of the materials and tools were stored. All Harry could do at the sight of all this was cock one of his eyebrows.

Ollivander points to a stool sitting in the middle of the workshop and says, "Take a seat, Mr. Potter, take a seat, might as well get comfortable. Even with my explanation, I'll need you to stick around for a little while. Now, where to begin..."

Harry sat himself down and got ready to take some mental notes.

"Ah, yes, at the beginning. Beginnings are always a good place to start. Wands, as all magical foci, can only handle so much energy before becoming saturated. The level of energy needed varies from wand to wand, depending on the materials used, your wand having one of the highest capacities I have ever made. This energy bleeds off at a set pace, once more dependent upon the materials. Once more, yours is in the top percent of all the wands I have made. Now, the problem is, what happens if the wand becomes completely saturated with magic and remains that way?"

"Nothing good?"

"In most cases, that would actually be a very good answer. Unless proper fail-safes are included, a wand could literally blow up in its wielder's face. So what was the occasion that brought about this change in your wand?"

"Dementors, I found out that they burn rather well. Especially when you use Warfire."

The wandmaker turned toward the young man and blinked. Several times. His mouth was hanging slightly open. "Well that would probably do it. Hold out your hand please, palm up. You said you were right handed correct?"

Harry did as was asked of him and the old man then went around to the cabinets, pulling out materials. "I was, but I'm more ambidextrous now."

A few contemplative sounds came from the old wandmaker, who then replied, "Both hands then, if you please." He started placing various samples of materials on Harry's upturned palms, with much scrutiny, and said, "Where was I?"

"Fail-safes. By the way, how are you telling whether or not there are reactions? Mage Sight or Sense?"

"Aural viewing, both magical and actual. Fail-safes. I build into all of my wands a measure that will allow them to bled off larger amounts of excess energy. The runes are that system. Now, given that fact that you have only just finished your third year at school, and have yet to hit your full power, the first stage in protecting your wand from destruction via your own magics is not going to handle it. What I am going to do is further increase the amount of energy that is bleed off. This is going to be done in two ways. The first is going to be in how the wand dumps magic into the air and the second in how it feeds the magic back into you. If the issues continue in years to come, I shall have to increase how much energy it is able to hold before it reaches saturation. This is quite marvelous you know. It has been quite sometime since I have had to do this, and I always enjoy it. Now, while I am going through the alterations to your wand I am going to add a few... enchantments to it as well. So, was that along the lines of what you were thinking Mr. Potter?"

"More or less, I know Ollivander wands are some of the best in the world, from a quite a bit of reading about wandlore and craft, I knew a little about the generalities of what you were speaking of, but it is always nice to have specifics."

"Yes, specifics are always enjoyable. I think that is everything," he pointed to the pile of materials he had gathered, "I need from you. It should take about five hours to finish the alterations to your wand."

"So, what materials are you going to use?"

The old man simply grinned and said, "I shall tell you after I finish. Now, run along."

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. How much is this going to cost?"

"Fifty-eight galleons, six sickles."

Harry gave a short bow to the master wandmaker, and left the shop. He was cursing silently however. He wasn't going to be able to put off clothes shopping. Maybe he would get himself a new pair of dragonhide boots... Wait, he was by himself, without his wand, so shrinking down his bags was impossible. He would have to wait until later to get that shopping out of the way.

Now how to kill five hours, "**Ah-ha!** Florean Forescue's Ice Cream Parlour!"

* * *

A few minor errands (and five hours of ice cream) later, Harry knocked on the door to Ollivander's. The wandmaker answered the door with a smile, flipping the sign back over to 'Open'.

"Right on time, Mr. Potter. Now, just hold out your hands for a moment. Palms up again, if you please."

Harry shook his head and did as was asked. Ollivander drew his wand and tapped the pads of Harry's thumbs and ring fingers accompanied by a slight burning sensation, and then there was a bit of pain as his palm was jabbed and a glob of blood was pulled away, hovering near the tip of the wand.

Ollivander dropped the blood onto an object on the counter, and then handed the object to Harry. It was an teardrop shaped wand holster, seven inches long and two wide.

"That holster Mr. Potter, is far more superior to the others that I sell, and those sold elsewhere. Instead of straps, there is a sticking charm along the back. And once stuck, it has notice-me-not and disillusionment charms that should make it so that none but you know it is there. Along with that, so long as your wand is within it, there are very few ways to damage it. Now, using your thumb and ring finger, either hand, snap your fingers."

Harry gave the odd old man a look, but did as he was told with his right hand... and his wand appeared in his hand. He examined how his wand had been changed. The grip was now wrapped in a single strip of white leather, which was marked with silver runes. From above the grip to the tip, between the original runes, were now three slightly curved triangular lengths of rune carved metal, blood red and lustrous save for flecks of black, the ends of which were in line with the bottom of the neighbor to the right, like the runes. The original runes themselves now seemed to be inlaid with gold.

"It's even more beautiful than it was before, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Now for the materials I used, the leather is from a Normandy White, a fairly rare breed of dragon that experts often agree is the most intelligent. The runes on it were inked in what is potion that consists mainly of silver and dragon blood. The runes running along the length of the wood of wand have been inlaid with gold from a dragon's hoard to increase the amount of energy they let off. The metal is a combination of an alchemic alloy called black steel and scales from a Chinese Fireball. Now, the wand will only come to your hand like that if it is in the holster, though if it is within ten meters of the holster, and out of your hand for more than two minutes, it will return to the holster."

"That is useful, thank you. But I do have one last question. Is it me or do most, if not all, of the materials in my wand relate to dragons in some way?"

"Indeed Mr. Potter... How curious."

Harry rolled his eyes and paid the strange old man.

* * *

Harry was lounging in the informal sitting rooms, working on his Runes notebook. He had decided that he didn't want to spend the portions of the summer he was spending at the Manor isolated in his room. It was a bad habit that he decided he should break before it became too ingrained. While he still saw Moony and Padfoot at meals and when they decided they wanted to show him something, he knew he could be a little more sociable. No one ever visited him when he was holed up in his room.

Probably because of the number of traps he had been forced to set up when the occasional prank war came about.

'I swear, you dump a couple buckets of oatmeal on people, and they fear for their lives.'

Speaking of fearing for their lives, Sirius popped his head into the room. "There you are pup, I need to talk to you."

Harry glanced down at the rune array he was working on, watching as a last set of annotations added themselves to the page. He canceled the dictation spell, and set the book down. "So, when did you get back and what do you want, Padfoot?"

"Five minutes ago, and to talk."

"About?"

"Combat training."

"It is about the prophecy?"

"Yup."

"So, what is the agenda?"

"Laps around the Pitch and calisthenics in the morning and the evening, training duels every Monday and Friday, and Spell arsenal analysis every Wednesday. And you finally get something that your parents had made when they first heard of the prophecy."

"Oh really?"

"Yup," he said as he tossed a box about two inches per side at Harry ",catch."

He stared at the box, not sure whether or not Sirius had anything planned, so he said warily, "What's in it?"

"A secondary magical focus. A Shield Ring to be specific. Oriculum as a base, twilight diamond as a magical core. Commissioned the day after they heard the prophecy. Finished... October 31, 1981. Best used if you have a few shield charms down to the point where they are point cast and completely silent. Also alters the spell structure that those shields that don't have will based components, do."

Opening the box, the ring was braided strands of metal, most of them shades of purple and blue, save a few that seemed to shine with a silver light. It resized itself to his left middle finger when he put it on. He got up from the couch he was on, moved away from the furniture, and held his left hand in front of him, fingers spread wide.

A simple circular protego sprung up in front of him. He fiddled with the shape, size, and thickness of the shield for a moment, before willing it to anchor a foot from his palm, and moving it about.

"Seems like it would be dead useful."

He smiled sadly. Even before he was born, his parents had been looking out for him.

* * *

Part of Harry's new training included what Sirius lovingly called 'Dodging Practice'. It took place in the training room that resembled the sparring floor of a martial arts dojo. It currently involved a pair of sparring dummies firing a version of the paintball spell, a version designed so that when in flight it visually mimics common spells used in combat... And the fact that the mild stinging hex component was not all that mild anymore.

So, Harry was going through his rather... full catalog of foul language, all while planning how to get back at Padfoot for this.

'Why the hell did I ever agree to this... Sirius is insane!'

Harry growled as a pair of spells hit him, one on his left bicep, the other in his gut. He flung his left hand out as a reflex, wincing as his upper arm protested the action. An opaque hexagonal shield flared into existence in front of him.

"End spar! Harry, this is called **dodge** practice, not shield practice." And with saying that, Sirius threw a water balloon at Harry, who promptly hopped out of the way. Of course, when it hit the ground the paint filling it splattered everywhere.

"You are so juvenile Padfoot. I swear, if I didn't want to kick off yet another prank war, I'd get you back for this. But seeing as I actually feel bad for the elves whenever we start going at each other, I won't."

"Well then, young Harry, I must commend on your maturity. Lunch should be ready soon."

Harry grumbled to himself as he left the sparring room. The grumbling turned into cursing when Sirius nailed him in the back with another paint filled water balloon. Thoughts of revenge started floating around in his head.

It was only the second week of June and Sirius was going to pay.

* * *

Finally tired of never having enough room in the one workshop/potions lab he was using, Harry poked his head into one of the other ones and saw that no one was using it. Narrowing his eyes he saw that the only one that was in use was the one he had claimed.

"This won't do at all..."

Remus (who was reading Transfiguration Today), Sirius (who was replacing some of Remus's periodicals with gay porn), and Bella (who was idly planning revenge against the Lestranges) were all brought out of their activities when they heard maniacal laughter. It carried on for a good five minutes.

Remus went to lock down his rooms and pack. He was planning a camping trip by the time he was halfway to his room. He could do with some time in the great outdoors.

Bella decided she would get out of the house... she had a friend in France who she had started writing after her name was cleared. They had already talked about spending some time together, and now was as good a time as any.

Sirius felt a shiver down his spine like someone was walking over his grave... and promptly ignored it. He had survived the displeasure of Lily Potter née Evans. What the hell could Harry do to him?

It should be noted at this point that Sirius Black was never known for his intelligence...

* * *

Harry went over the list in his head. Vanishing resistant itching powder, applied in such amounts that there was no longer any safe bed, couch, or bedding in the Manor, while also applied to every last single bog roll in the Manor, check. All clothing sized to fit Sirius, transfigured and charmed in countless embarrassment inducing ways (he was really quite proud of the charm that would cause half of his slacks to transform into hot pants whenever more than four people were looking in his general direction), check. Elves properly bribed to keep Sirius from eating anything other than Brussels sprouts, liver, and beets, check. Doorways charmed to change Sirius's hair into new and interesting styles and colors, check. Superglue on the toilet seats, check. Dungbombs charmed to invade bubblehead charms in the hallways, check. Sent Dobby to fetch Peeves, double check. Getting the hell out of Dodge, in progress.

He did not want to be around when Peeves showed up. Even if the little blighter agreed with the deal of Harry supplying him with joke products this year, the bastard probably would never keep up his end of the bargain if Harry was around. Which was why the next thing on his research list as soon as he settled into where he was heading would be the exorcizing of poltergeists.

He'd packed a bag, grabbed his books, and reserved a room at the Leaky Cauldron. He still wanted to spend some time with both Sirius and Remus, not to mention the fact that he was finally getting school day stories what had his mother as a central figure from Bellatrix. So, instead of heading to the Flamels' a month early, Sirius had to be taught a lesson. He tossed the Floo powder into the fire, called out "Leaky Cauldron," and stepped through the Floo.

Sirius would be waking up from the sleeping potion Harry slipped him in about five minutes. He would then find the sticky note that Harry would tell him exactly when the traps in the Manor would be disarmed and get the elves to start feeding him real food. Which was only in exchange for a legally binding surrender.

* * *

"Okay, I admit it. I was wrong. Harry can be, and is, worse than his mother. I swear the worst she ever did was hit me with a frying pan."

Sirius had been having a very bad week. His was currently hiding under the kitchen table. The prankster could not believe that Harry had gotten the elves on his side for this. They would not launder the sheets. He hadn't eaten anything decent in the Manor for the length of the siege... the blasted bat-eared blighters had locked down the fridge and pantry, while intercepting any of his take-away!

"But I could take all of that. But no. Harry unloads the Unforgivable of the prank world. He called in Peeves!"

Of course, this ranting had given away his position. Peeves had been listening to Sirius whine for the last five minutes, nodding along. He then threw a water balloon filled with paint at the Marauder.

Sirius decided he would get in contact with his solicitors... He had a document he needed drafted.

* * *

A little over a week had passed since Harry had left Sirius more or less alone in the Manor, with the only beings for company being the elves and Peeves. He'd quickly gotten what he needed in the event Peeves needed to be... evicted from the Manor. Once that had been settled, it only took a few hours, which made Harry wonder why the hell Peeves was still at Hogwarts with all of Filch's complaining about the spirit.

Though there was also the question of what Filch was still doing in Hogwarts when he seemed to hate children.

He had then sat down, taken a piece of parchment, and made a list. He had a feeling that there was storm fast approaching, and not in the meteorological sense. Voldemort would return, sooner or later, but knowing how Fate absolutely hated him, it would probably be far too soon for his tastes.

Taking his face out of the Anatomy and Physiology of Magical Creatures text he was reading and finishing off the notes in one of his journals, he eyed the list that was sitting on the desk. It wasn't prioritized... But it was definitely all things that he found important. Advance in Arithmancy and Runes, even if time on other Hogwarts subjects must be sacrificed. As a sub heading to Arithmancy, build a mental catalog of spell formulas, with a focus upon those that could be used to high effect in combat. Learn as many shield spells as possible and perfect the use of them. Finish the Animagus transformation, if possible. And... he eyed the book he had just set down.

Taking a deep breath, he flexed his hands, and then watched as the muscles and bones shifted and writhed underneath his skin.

He'd sent the letter he had received from Sirius's solicitors to his own solicitors, and he should see if the surrender was acceptable in a day or two. Maybe not the best use of money, but his father's and mother's journals had contained more than a few comments about wishing they had sicced the solicitor on Padfoot.

He chuckled at the pun, and picked up his Runes linking book.

* * *

"Okay Peeves, he's surrendered. You'll get your payment on the Second of September. Just remember, no using it on me or my friends."

"Of course Potty, it has been a pleasure doing business with you. Almost makes me wish the Weasel Twins could afford to pay me off."

The poltergeist made his way through the wall and appeared to leave the house. Harry eyed Sirius where he was huddled in the corner.

"Dobby!"

"Yes, Master Harry Potter sir?"

"The war is over, the elves know what I did and can start defusing everything. The payment will be on the dining room table."

Harry then turned to his shell-shocked dogfather and lightly nudged the man with his foot.

"Sirius, snap out of it."

"So... many... cats!"

Shaking his head, Harry pulled an airhorn out of his backpack and set it off, right in Sirius's face.

He didn't know Padfoot could scream like a little girl.

Sirius gave his best friend's son a dirty look, "You know, calling in Peeves to wage a war by proxy... That is just dirty pool."

"Yeah well, I'd rather not put up with your antics Sirius. I have too much planned for this summer."

"So... does that mean you don't want to go to the Quidditch World Cup?"

Harry just looked at Sirius like he was stupid.

"Dumb question, right. Why should I take you?"

"I could always get Peeves back here..."

The elder shuddered and said, "Understood. So what is it you have planned, anyway?"

"Well, this and that... I also need some backup for when I start to attempt the Animagus..."

The man's face lit up like Christmas had come early.

Harry left to unload the bags of sweets he got for the elves. Little blighters would do anything for a sugar fix.

* * *

The rest of June had passed quickly enough, once Sirius had been taught his lesson. Bella and Remus returned a few days after Sirius had surrendered, to the pleasant surprise of a still intact Manor. Even more surprising was the fact was the copy of the surrender that had been posted on the door to each of their rooms.

They both helped in their own ways with Harry's studies and training. Remus, with his varied career history in both worlds, served time watching over Harry's physical exercises and also helping increase his combat spell arsenal. Bella, on her good days, talked with Harry about the Death Eater's tactics and operations, in additions to sharing stories about Lily. For the most part, there were the warm bodies that they threw at problems, those that any half decent Auror would be able to take half a dozen of with ease. But she made sure that he knew the other parts of Voldemort's operations.

Sirius of course continued his torture... err... teaching with his dodge practice, to which he also added the occasional flying object. He just slowed the difficulty curve and stopped lobbing paint filled balloons at Harry. It was the end of the first week of July before Sirius decided that Harry was proficient enough at getting out of the way of spellfire that he would allow Harry to use a shield spell. The bad news was that he doubled the number of sparring dummies.

He'd sent out another round of correspondence with Hedwig, giving her the ever welcome excuse to stretch her wings. He had added another item to his to-do list. He had almost completely forgotten his work on what little wandless magic he could do, that little being those that fell under remote object manipulation.

He grinned. His use of that category of spells was starting to resemble what mundanes would call telekinesis, though it was only on a very small scale. But he had recently encountered an issue. The amount of focus needed to do more delicate motions made it limited to one object at time. His eyes flickered over to where a quill was seemingly writing out row after row of runes of its own accord.

He paced for a good half an hour to start, kicking around theories of just how to train his mind to truly multitask. As always when his intellect was focused on an objective, side projects related to the problem, but offering no solution, were noted and tagged for further research and trials, and then tossed aside.

It took six and a half hours to come down to a pair of possible solutions, one almost purely philosophical in nature and the other was an exercise in brute power. The latter would (possibly) be easy, simply go into his mindspace create 'copies' of himself and start having them to do completely unrelated things. Lather, rinse, repeat as many times as necessary. It could work. The former... was highly theoretical and most likely impossible. And it was a direct result of how he saw himself in his mind. He had... an avatar for lack of a better word, that interacted with his representation of his mind. Yes, he could remotely manipulate his defenses, but only one part at a time. And that was the problem. He would need to dispose of the notion of himself as existing in only a place or two at a time. And hence it fell under the heading of a philosophical problem...

How to be omnipresent within his mind.

Snatching up the quill and looking at the precise arrangement of runes, he nodded, and went to his bed. One solution could be put into work right now and hopefully yield results soon, while the other... It would probably be one big headache.

But there was work to be done.

* * *

He dropped to the ground of the training room, gasping in pain. The room was currently configured for fights that would take place indoors. Corridors, rooms, more corridors. Harry wrapped one arm around his chest, letting out a growl.

"That really, **really** hurt. That particular project is getting shelved. Because that is a new and distressing brand of pain I have no interest in getting better acquainted with. Dobby!"

Harry was really quite fond of the mad little elf. The fact the he responded so... insanely to the smallest amounts of kindness, was both unsettling and endearing. Harry hauled himself up so that he was sitting tailor style of the floor.

"Yes Master Harry Potter sir?"

"How goes the project I asked of you?"

"Dobby has all of the fileses from the British Isles, and was just about to get started on the Frenchies..."

"Wonderful Dobby, can you get me about twenty of the ones you have and put the rest in my study?"

"Right away Master Harry Potter sir!"

The elf poofed away, and came right back a moment later with a stack of rolled up parchments.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No, thank you very much for doing this for me Dobby."

The little elf squeed like Harry had just made his millennium, and poofed away.

Harry sighed, which induced a painful minute or two of coughing, and he grabbed the top most parchment.

"Name: Hallieth, Jameson D.; Date of Birth: January 3rd, 1671; Maximum Magical Potential: High Sorcerer; Notable Magical Traits: Metamorphmagus; Occupation: Auror; Date of Death: September 16th, 1722; Circumstance of Death: Killed in Action, Combat with Dark Wizards; Combat Notes: Auror in charge noted that Jameson kept fighting when any normal wizard would have been bleeding out on the ground, recommended for posthumous commendation; Cause of Death: Approximately thirty (30) mid-tier piercing spells to the torso, limbs, and head; Postmortem Notes: A number of the piercers seem to have been partly healed prior to death. The subject, though being fifty-one years of age ..."

Finishing the report, he picked up the next, a chill slowly creeping up his spine.

"I don't know whether to thank the Wizarding World for keeping meticulous death notices in the public records, or finish what Fate has started and let what I'll probably learn from these records drive me completely and totally insane."

Harry swore profusely in Gaelic.

"There are days I really hate my life."

He tossed the parchment with the other read file.

"I am likely going to end up emo before I turn seventeen. Either that or I'll die a horrible, horrible death. I think I would prefer the latter. I don't want to have to put poor Nev through beating the emo out of me."

* * *

Harry had filled one of the workrooms with panes of opaque glass. The walls were covered with it and they were suspended from the ceiling, giving barely enough room to walk between them.

He was currently darting between his substitute for chalk boards (he hated chalk, it was dusty and made an absolutely horrid sound when being used), writing out various formulas in a grease pencil. On a few boards rune arrays could be seen, drawn in black with annotations in various colors.

Sirius poked his head into the room. "Pup, you in here?"

"Near the back Padfoot."

The older man weaved his way between the hanging surfaces, back to when where Harry was working on... something. Pieces of parchment were stuck to the board, and each one was surrounded with either comments or chunks of what looked like spell formulas. Harry had a little cart near him, and it had pieces of parchment, ink, grease pencils, and his journals.

"I don't think even your mother went this insane when it came to working on a project."

Harry froze for a moment. He turned to Sirius and scowled. He then went back to his work, not saying anything to the Marauder.

He finally broke the silence. "But she did get something like this?"

"Occasionally during big projects. Bella can tell you more about her during school, but I will say one thing about after we all graduated. She was fierce. They say that Dumbledore was the only one that Voldemort was afraid of. That's only half true. A number of Death Eaters that were captured during the last word made comments that caused more than a few people to come to a very interesting conclusion. He was afraid of what your mother could become. It was known to everyone in our year that she was the top student. She was easily the most talented magical to come out of the school in two decades. She was also one of the most powerful in that span of time. She was easily within the Archmage range of power, would probably have cleared into High Archmage before she turned thirty, giving her the potential to be on an even footing with both Dumbledore and Voldemort's current power levels, all they had on her were years of experience. So... what are you working on."

"I've had a few ideas about the fire-whip spell running around him my head for the past few days. Need to get it out."

"Define ideas..."

"Altering the structure of the spell such that the excess magic pumped into the spell is not wasted, but instead causes the whip to become even hotter. There's also a secondary idea, and no, I am not telling you about it."

Sirius pouted and whined, only to get kicked in the shin.

"Now why did you come looking for me?"

"Ah, yes... Damn, I've completely forgotten."

"Get out Padfoot, before I start bribing the elves to short sheet your bed."

* * *

During the second week of July, a few days before Harry was to leave for the Flamels' cottage, and he was sitting in the informal sitting room of the Manor when Sirius poked his head into the room.

"I remembered what it was I wanted to tell you. The Triwizard Cup is being held at Hogwarts. Thought you should know." He pulled his head back out and left

Harry froze at the sudden randomness of that, before getting up, and running out of the room, yelling "SIRIUS!"

* * *

Fifteen minutes of chasing, and a dozen or so objects transfigured into cats later, Harry finally started getting details out of Padfoot.

"Geese Harry, no need to get your hair in a knot. Seriously, what can be so bad about it?"

Harry shot his godfather a look that would curdle milk and said, "Fate hates me, absolutely loves to kick me when I am down, and the wizarding world's closest analogue to a blood sport is coming to Hogwarts. I _bet you fifty galleons that I am forced_ to compete in the god damn thing."

All the Marauder could do was blink at this, then saying, in a rather quiet voice, "Oh yeah."

"Well anyway, the Tournament is going to be much larger to inaugurate what will hopefully be a new run of it. So instead of bringing the normal list of potential champions, both of the participating foreign schools are moving the entirety of their student bodies to Hogwarts, which itself is getting the east and west wings renovated, with the inclusion of a number of spacial expansion charms, to house the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons contingents."

"Bloody marvelous the school is going to be absolutely packed this year. Thanks for the warning Padfoot. I've got some research to do."

Harry scowled at the Head of the House of Black, and started transfiguring most of the smaller objects in the room into cats.

Making Sirius scream like a little girl may not have been much, but payback was payback.

* * *

Harry was pacing back and forth in the dining room, two days later, his nose in a linking book that read "Chronomancy" on the cover. Yes, time magics were frowned upon by the Ministry. Yes, they were dangerous on a large enough scale. But he was going to have a working knowledge of the two most commonly used applications of that particular field of magic, damn the consequences.

Time was one of the few things that when you truly needed it, it was damn near impossible to get more of. So that was why he was taking the time, while he had it, to study up on Time Compression and Stasis Spells.

"Hello Harry."

"Come to pick me up, Uncle Nic? Did you and Aunty Pen get my letters?"

"Yes, I am. And of course we got your letters. Do you have any idea when you want to be back here for?"

"Not really, though I would like to be back before the Quidditch World Cup."

"We will figure it out, Harry. You do know..."

"That dabbling in Time Magics is dangerous, foolhardy, and illegal? Yes. But the goddamn Tri-Wizard is coming to Hogwarts."

There was a long pause before Nicolas continued talking, "That is not good. Knowing that you are, as you like to put it, Fate's chew toy, I fear that you are going to end up competing, one way or another."

"Yup. Which reminds me, I really need to write Griphook and get him to transfer my proxy for the twenty-five percent of the Daily Prophet that I own over to Sirius. I keep forgetting. That will give us at least a fifty-five percent controlling interest in the paper. More if Paddy has been buying up shares like he said he would. Oh, goody we can get rid of the gossip monger herself. I really, really hate reading anything by Rita Skeeter. She is just a horrible, horrible person."

* * *

Perenelle and Nicolas gave Harry a few days to settle in before having a relatively serious discussion at the table after dinner had been cleared away and cleaned up.

The conversation started with Perenelle, "Given that events each year have been troubling Harry, Nicolas and I have decided, with some input from Sirius and Remus and some consultation with what we knew of your parents' plans to keep you have, to start teaching you a number of things responsible adults keep from the hands of teenagers.

"So sadly, I'm not going to be able to teach you some of the wonders of history, but I will be touching upon some fairly high level magical theory as I teach you how to cast some spells that will devastate wide areas. Some more high level theory will be included as I teach you how to bend the spells you cast to your will. Outside of that, with the Triwizard coming to Hogwarts, we'll be brushing up on your French and German, and making sure you will be able to properly comport yourself. Dancing lessons will be included, even if you decide not to go to any of the functions involved, mainly for the fact that you may be press-ganged into being a champion."

When Perenelle stopped to take a sip of tea, Nicolas continued, "We'll be moving away from the theoretical work I've been giving you for Alchemy. You will be learning how to create a number of materials with wide range of uses, and how to alter those same materials to suit a specific purpose. Sirius wrote that you got the Shield Ring your parents had made for you. I'll be teaching you how to make foci similar to that, and a lot about enchantment aside from that. We'll also be expanding upon what you are taught in Potions.

"Now, any questions?"

"Yes, I assume I am going to have some time to relax?"

Perenelle softly shook her head as she said, "Of course you will, Harry. We will be pushing you, making you find your limits and slowly push them outwards, but we will still let you unwind. Especially for your birthday."

Harry took a long sip of his tea before saying, "When do we start?"

* * *

Harry spent from then until the morning of the thirtieth, with his face pressed into the grindstone. Nicolas tended to work with Harry in the mornings while Perenelle had the afternoons.

Alchemy had finally moved beyond endless studying about what properties materials had and what caused them to have those properties, to (at first) slightly altering those properties, and then removing or adding properties. Nicolas was also teaching Harry how to make a number of magical materials, though the specifics of how the process used created these marvels would take the teenager years to understand.

After about a dozen hours of quizzing Harry's potions knowledge, Nicolas started on teaching Harry how to brew a number of useful but difficult potions.

One was what the Alchemist called, 'Super Coffee', "Drink about 12 centiliters of this stuff and even if you are dead on your feet from exhaustion, you will still be able to carry on for another half a day. The crash afterwards is horrible, so only use it if you know you'll be able to rest after it runs its course. And don't use it again for at least a month afterward. It is dangerously addictive."

Another was a powerful, but proscribed, general healing potion, "This little monster speeds up all cellular division that is tied to healing. You take this before going to sleep with injuries that will take standard healing two weeks to mend, you'll be right as rain the next morning. With a month or so hacked off of your life span to fuel the regeneration. There is a good reason why it is illegal."

Another long lecture came earlier in his stay at the cottage, "Enchanting is the imbuing of long term effects, either passive or active, into objects. Passive is like the permanency, endless pages, and some of the other effects you put into your journals. Active is the fact that you made it so that you do not need to use you wand to cast your dictation charm. You also made use of the two different ways effects can be imprinted onto the items. For the dictation and refilling charms, you simply cast an anchored the spells, though an on/off toggle was included for the former. These two spells would be easy to tell when they drop, which they will as being simply anchored, and just as easy to reapply. There is some superstition out there that spells will always drop at the worst possible moment. And they do more often than not, so only use anchored on objects that won't have to save your life. You used a full runic array for permanency, spacial expansion, and the endless pages, due to the fact that you knew that if and when those enchantments ran out there would be things lost.

"Now as the enchantments you placed on your books were not all that extensive, the materials you used really did not matter. For more heavily enchanted items, it will. Higher quality is always preferable to low. Cloth as an example, thread count is always a good indicator, and you should take the time to learn about the materials you want to work with. Materials that are magical in nature tend to trump mundane, unless they have some sort of spell resistance associated with them. Which is why the lining of your dragonhide gloves can be charmed for comfort but the gloves themselves can't.

"Now onto magical foci, since the bare basics of the two are roughly linked. They are greatly overlooked in Britain due to the fact that wands have been the method of choice for casting for centuries. Part of this is due to their versatility and ease of use, and sadly part is that they are very easily tracked. They come in three distinct classes. Primary or generalized. Secondary or specialized. And apex. We'll get more into the specifics later, but material quality is also very important. Your ring is of amazingly high quality, and the fact is if you learn to use even two foci at a time, you will become a fairly difficult person to fight.

"Now, using your ring as an example, it is made chiefly from two materials, like almost all foci. It has its magical core, twilight diamond, an alchemical substance noted for the volume of magical energy that it can hold, and the time it can hold that charge. It is like the magical creature parts that are used in the creation of wands. The parts only tend to come from highly magical creatures, unicorns, dragons, phoenixes. The ability of the core material to hold high amounts of magical energy allows the user of the focus to bring their magical energy into sync with it, which attributes to the 'wand choosing the wizard' phenomenon. Each human and creature has slightly different magic, and so a wand needs to have a core that is compatible with its wielder. Non-organic cores tend to have high compatibility, though it is one size fits all.

"The second component of a focus is a material that is capable of quickly channeling relatively high amounts of magical energy, which is the opposite of the core. This is oriculum in the case of your ring, and with wands it is wood from trees in highly magical areas. Foci require magical materials, while Enchanting just benefits from them. Which makes both fields ripe for the use of Alchemically created or altered materials."

After that lesson he was given a focus that was a pair of gloves. They were used with a set of transfiguration spells that focused wholly on changing something into a given shape. From silverware and swords to chairs and safes. Using the spells on magical materials were more tiring than the mundane, but if you are going to do something, do it right (in this case making materials with Alchemy and making sure that the focus or enchanted object turns out how you want it to).

* * *

Perenelle's lessons started slow, and introduced Harry to an entirely new use of Arithmancy. And they mostly took place in French or German.

"Counter to spell alteration and design where the Arithmancy involved eventually resolves into the wand motions with only a slight effect spell's verbalization (which was mostly derived from the effect, which is part of what created the Arithmancy), in the use I will be teaching you, it will determine rhythm, length, and volume. The words spoke still need some connection to the effect you wish to reach, but it can be even more loosely related than standard spell casting."

It was a week of building on Harry's knowledge in the needed field, and get him to understanding the fundamental rules of the branch of magic she was going to be teaching him.

Eventually, for their lesson, she took Harry to a large clearing in the forest a kilometer and a half from the cottage. The only unusual thing was that Perenelle carried what seemed to be a ruby staff that Harry had never seen before.

Upon reaching their destination, which had a massive obsidian obelisk standing in the center, Perenelle sternly said, "Now, Harry, you will see a gold circle on the ground inscribed with runes. You will stand in that circle, and not exit it, no matter what happens. Do you understand me?"

Swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat, he nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am," before complying.

After he was firmly ensconced within the protections of the circle, which was just beyond the treeline, and Perenelle had activated it. She then walked away from the circle until she was about ten meters away, before she turned to face the obelisk.

Taking her staff firmly in hand, Harry could barely see her lips moving as the staff started to glow. The wind in the clearing started to pick up, though it seemed to circle the clearing. He couldn't feel it in the circle he was standing in, but he could see it causing tree limbs to thrash, as it caused the grass and low laying shrubberies to press against the ground, and hear it howl.

In short order, the circling winds had closed in on the stone, and were gouging furrows in the rock, evening going so far as to rip chucks of material from the monument. The winds eventually died down, and the destruction stopped, and Harry barely noticed as Perenelle walked over to him and tapped the circle on the ground with the base of her staff.

Blinking a few times, he turned to her as she grinned, and then listened as she explained, "That was a chanted spell, one of its old uses was during sieges, still good for hitting slow, heavy targets, slamming large groups of enemies that cannot escape, or as the initial attack in a trap."

* * *

Our hero of the ill luck was roused out of his room long before dawn by Nicolas.

"Get dressed for a walk through the woods, we have one more thing at the cottage we absolutely to do before we get you back to the Manor this evening, so that you will be there for your birthday tomorrow. We'll see the day after tomorrow about whether or not you want to come back for another week before going back again to get ready for the Cup."

"You know, even if I only sleep about two hours a night, I still like to rest when the sun had gone to its own bed."

"Yeah, well, we need to get where we're going by dawn, and walking is the only way to get there."

Harry grumbled good-naturedly, but started getting dressed.

"Oh yes, Sirius forwarded your Hogwarts letter, so Perenelle is going to be taking you shopping today."

And he turned and left.

Harry blinked several times while his jaw worked up and down. Aunty Pen wouldn't just get him the minimum needed for school. He'd be getting new robes for both in school and out of it, probably some dress robes too. And then she would drag his arse into muggle London to round out his wardrobe.

He dropped to his knees, turned his face to the ceiling, and reached out to the sky with his hands, fingers beseeching the heavens. He howled out one word in a despairing scream.

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooo!"

Nicolas came back into the room, shaking his head. "Must you be such a drama queen?"

Harry turned to the man with an insane grin on his face. "Of course I must. I am the son of a Marauder who lives with two of the others. It is in my nature."

* * *

As the pair walked through the woods, Nicolas gave Harry one last lecture, while he held a lamp in his hand. The lecture didn't even start until they were a long ways from the cottage, most of the hike passing in silence.

"Now I am going to be repeating this lesson, if only for emphasis on two pieces of information, and because I am going to be introducing the third category of magical foci.

"Most foci as divided into two categories. Primary, or generalized, foci; such as your wand, and secondary, or specialized, foci; such as your shield ring. There is one last category though, apex, as I mentioned during my first lecture. You have noticed that we have never even mentioned one of the more iconic magical foci, the staff."

"I just assumed it was another kind of primary. I never really found that much about them in my reading, and haven't really cared all that much to be honest."

"You haven't found that much on staff lore because it is very carefully controlled, even in family libraries. It tends to be reserved for the family Book of Shadows, though even then it only really applies to very old families."

He took a breath and ducked under a low tree branch.

"The reason for this is staves fall under the third heading for magical foci, apex foci. They are always powerful. But you cannot just go out and get a staff made. The person who constructs a staff and the one who wields it must be one and the same. And besides which, the use of any apex focus is prone to backlash. Used too often and for too long, your core will start to become unstable. That, and the hand holding the focus will start to become injured due to the sheer amount of magic pouring through it."

It was at this point that they came into a clearing in the forest, and the sky was starting to turn the gray of dawn. In the center of the clearing was a bone white tree, about one hundred feet tall, the trunk looking like it was comprised of large, straight, two inch-thick rods of wood instead of bark, and the branches seemed to curve to make a sphere. The leaves were silver and the seemed to glow gently in the predawn dark. To Harry's magical senses, the tree shone as bright as the noonday sun, while singing with a very gentle and extremely ancient strength.

"This is the reason Perenelle and I built our home nearby. We've spent the last century studying this tree. It is extremely old and immensely powerful."

Harry nodded dumbly at this statement. It was painfully obvious to his senses that tree radiated magic. Which was completely different in fact from any of the other trees that grew in highly magical areas, which had a slight glow that spoke of a build up of energy. This tree was a bloody power plant! "And it also seems to possess some kind of awareness. What you are going to do is walk up to the tree, channel some magic into the palm of your hand, and hope that it gives you something."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"No. The thing apparently likes Pen better than me, too. Most of the time she is the only one the blasted thing will give a sample to."

Harry's reply dripped with sarcasm, "Comforting."

Sighing Harry walked up to the tree and said, "You know, I feel like a complete and utter fool doing this. I hope the extremely old man ("Hey, I heard that you whippersnapper!") isn't just messing with me."

He placed his hand against the tree, feeling both a physical warmth coming from it, along side the mild heat and slight vibration of its magic. He pushed a little of his own magic out through the palm of his hand and then felt a slight shift in the energies. One of the rods, a little over six feet in length came loose from above Harry and hit him in the head.

Falling on his ass and cursing, he frowned as the magic around the tune of the tree's magic took on a note that could only be described as... amusement. "Oh, you think it is funny don't you? Beaning me in the head with a length of lumber... Well let's see how you like it when I cover your branches in bog rolls!" The magic shifted, being something that could only be outright laughter. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, you quasi-sentient magical heap of wood."

Picking up the blank for his staff, Harry made his way back to Nicolas. "Uncle Nic, your magical tree has a twisted sense of humor."

* * *

Harry stumbled through the Floo, glad that the tort... err, shopping was finished. Aunty Pen had insisted on completely and totally replacing his entire wardrobe. He didn't need new socks, besides which he knew at least three spells that would darn them. What the bloody hell was it with women and shopping. He could have sworn Nic was laughing at him.

Harry made his way towards the kitchen, the results of 'operation: I hate shopping' shrunken in his pockets, his thoughts vaguely on mooching some food off the elves. He opened the door to find...

A small slip of a young, long haired blonde, cute as a button girl, who couldn't be much more than seven years old. Harry blinked a few times, felt his magical senses tingle at something that wasn't quite normal about her (he ignored it for later contemplation), and then yelled the first thing that came to mind to confirm that this was in fact the Manor.

"**Dobby!**"

One pop later, and Harry is standing beside a hyper house-elf, "Yes, Master Harry Potter sir!"

"This is the Manor, right?"

The elf responded, with a rather confused tone, "Yes, Master Harry Potter sir..."

"And no one informed me that we apparently have at least one guest because?"

"Master PaddyFooty thought it would be funny, Master Moony couldn't be bothered, and Mistress Bella wanted to see how you would react to Master PaddyFooty."

"Assemble the kittens and catnip Dobby, and await my orders."

"Aye, aye PrankMaster Harry Potter sir!"

And the elf poofed away. All through this rather insane exchange, the little girl just watched a bit dazedly.

"Hello, I'm Harry."

She responded in English nigh unrecognizable underneath a French accent, "Hello, my name is Gabrielle Delacour."

Harry sighed, and then switched languages, {I assume that it would be easier if I spoke French?}

She giggled and then said, {Then why didn't you just start with it?}

{I didn't know you were French, obviously.}

She nodded excitedly.

{So, Gabrielle, you want to see an old man get pranked?}

She squee-ed.

{I'll take that as a yes.}

* * *

Harry walked into one of the sitting rooms to find Padfoot talking with a strong featured man of medium height and solid (as in sportsmen not Vernon) build.

Sirius grinned manically and said, "Hi pup."

The other man rose and was promptly tackle-hugged by Gabrielle.

The man picked the girl up and set her on his shoulders, and said, "You must be Harry. I see you have already met my daughter Gabrielle. I am Jean-Paul Delacour."

"A pleasure to meet you sir. Do you mind if I interrupt your conversation with my reprobate of a Godfather?"

"Not at all young man."

"Dobby!"

A poof, and the house-elf asks, "Yes, Master Harry Potter sir?"

"First, if you have to call me master, can you at least cut it down to Harry, and drop the constant sir. It was amusing the first hundred or so times, but is now starting to give me a headache, and second commence 'Operation: Let Slip the Cats of War'."

"Hai, tiachou!"

"I never should have taught him Japanese..."

He poofed away for all of two seconds before coming back and dumping a bucket of catnip on the Lord Black, followed shortly thereafter by a basket of kittens. Sirius ran squealing like a pig and screaming like a little girl from the room.

Harry yelled after him, "That's what you get for not informing me that some French people were coming to the Manor!" He turned to Dobby and said, "Thank you very much, you may help yourself to three or four of the sweets I keep in my sock drawer." The elf cackled like a madman and poofed away.

Harry turned back to the apparent guests of the Manor. Jean-Paul was chuckling while Gabrielle was giggling madly from her perch.

"So, now that I've dealt with that, what manner of misfortune brings you to the mad Manor of the Marauders?"

Chuckling a few more times, "With the Quidditch World Cup being held in a few weeks somewhere on this island, one of my wife's friends saying there was plenty of room at her home, and me being in dire need of a vacation, our family decided to spend some time in England."

Harry nodded a few times and said, "Sirius should have gotten most of the kittens off by now, so I am going to go and do... something. I assume I'll meet everyone else at a later time?"

"Of course."

"Have a good evening sir." {And you too, Gabrielle.}

"Have a good night, young man."

{Night Harry!}

* * *

**A/N2: The rough idea of the crossover that has been running in my head may be a little hard to explain, but I'm going to try anyway. The basis would be Naruto/Harry Potter (with Buffy potentially thrown in) and would have the title characters of the first two (and Xander from the third if it gets included) as being one singular character. One life would be lived for a period of time, until the character goes to sleep one night and wakes as another, to live another few weeks to few months. **

**The main character(s depending on your point of view of the gestalt) would end up quite a bit more powerful than canon, but quite frankly I've always viewed Harry as being severely underpowered in the end by Rowling considering some of the other things she had him do earlier, Naruto has been criminally under utilized by Kishimoto in my opinion, though Xander is a bit harder to argue for because part of what I saw as the character was that he was the only vanilla human of the group (though that really does not explain my liking of super!Xander fics).**

**Maybe with getting the basics of that on paper somewhere will get it to LEAVE ME ALONE for a while.**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 33 through 35 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 6:30 PM, 12 November, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 33:**

**Word Count: 3,700 | Character Count: 19,646 | Hits: 47,135 | Reviews: 64**

**Chapter 34:**

**Word Count: 3,159 | Character Count: 17,369 | Hits: 47,590 | Reviews: 75**

**Chapter 35:**

**Word Count: 3,556 | Character Count: 19,140 | Hits: 46,775 | Reviews: 92**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 10,415 | Character Count: 56,155 | Hits: 141,500 | Reviews: 231**

**New Total Word Count: 11,822 | New Total Character Count: 64,144**


	13. The 1994 Quidditch World Cup

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: ****As always my thanks goes out to those of you who take the time out of your day to read this, and to those of you who kindly take the time out of your day to review.**

**Long day. Tired. However, the buffer is out of danger and the chapters for until the Monday after next ready. And there are only two more chapters to revise until we get to new material, and to get the posting relatively even, the week of the 26****th**** will have three chapters posted, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And as a bigger bonus, that Wednesday's chapter, Chapter 17, is going to be massive containing almost all of the content from my Third Task.  
**

* * *

Chapter 13: The 1994 Quidditch World Cup

"Good god almighty, reading these things is depressing..."

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he went over some of the postmortem files he had gotten his hands on. He was currently reading the attached medical history from a file about a Polish metamorph who had been a duelist.

"Generalized recovery time from injuries seems to be anywhere from thirty-two to forty-five percent faster than Healer's estimates, with the exception of those times where magical exhaustion occurs concurrently..."

Harry picked up the journal that he was using to keep his notes handy and flipped to the page where he had kept the data of this particular type. It wasn't much, only five entries, soon to be six. Four Sorcerers and a High Sorcerer. Now a Mage. He doubted that he would get any records on an Archmage or higher.

He'd always been curious about why the hell he had always seemed to heal overnight. Now he had his answer... Apparently a metamorph's power worked on an automatic level to keep a body healthy, and the amount of magical power a person had would make it more effective.

And the fact that he would heal so damn quickly when the lion's share of his power had been stolen was a disturbing thought. He rolled his shoulders and picked up the next file. Sometimes only sleeping upwards of two hours a night really sucked.

At times it got really boring when there was no one to bother...

* * *

Harry watched as he used his, what he had finally decided to call (just for the sake of ease and or laziness) telekinesis (if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and smells like a duck, it is a goddamn duck), to work on two Rubik cubes while he bounced a little red rubber ball on the back of his hand.

He was sitting in the informal dining room and it was roughly seven o'clock in the morning. He was idly wondering when someone would wake up, so that he would have someone to talk to. What part of his thoughts that were not on the toys, longing for conversation, and boredom were focused on some... ideas for more... destructive solutions to issues that would come up when he was forced (kicking and screaming, albeit in a more dignified manner) to compete in the Tri-Wizard Cup.

He was considering the various explosives he would be able to field by the time summer was over. He was idly drawing up the runic equivalents of mines and grenades, but why stop there when there are oh so ever many ways to skin a cat (and thinking of that, he started a new thought thread on ways to get Bella back for her part in the decision to keep him in the dark about there being guests in the Manor). He had enough hints that he may very well be able to field something roughly related to Greek Fire through his work with potions and then there were the possibilities he had in alchemy. He idly made a note to do some research on mundane explosives.

As the door opened quietly, and before the person entering the room even stepped through, Harry said, "Good morning", before turning his head toward the door.

A blonde, tallish and willowy, beautiful beyond belief (even Harry would admit to the fact no matter how little of a chance he believed he would ever have with anyone of the female persuasion), and somehow managing to affect an air of grace even when she was apparently half asleep, walked into the room. His Mage Sense registered something that he had only noted from Hagrid and Professor Flitwick.

She wasn't entirely human, and he noted that the feeling was a more active version of what he had gotten off of Gabrielle. Where Hagrid's non-human magic gave off a feeling of brute physical strength and slowness of thought and Flitwick's spoke of shrewd cunning and deftness of hands, her energy sang, for lack of better word, of air, fire, and an allure that would drag men in. Harry wondered for a moment what that meant, as he had yet to have any particular reason to study up on magical beings. It threw him for a complete loop.

As her magic was being felt by his senses, he felt something brush up against his Occlumency shields. The closest he would put the feeling to was what he had felt the Dementors do. But instead of the cold of pure fear, there was a warmth, bordering on heat, that seemed to whisper 'come hither'.

And all this seemed to take place in a matter of seconds for him.

She blinked for a moment and then rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and then mumbled with a thick French accent, "Good morning... I didn't expect someone to actually be up..."

She then called for the elf that was in charge of the kitchen in the mornings... Flippy. She asked for a large stack of pancakes, with Harry adding in a request for fruit.

She yawned a few times, still apparently waking up. The she noticed the Rubik cubes floating in front of Harry, seemingly being solved of their own accord. She rubbed at her eyes a second time and then pinched herself on the forearm. In her shock, she reverted to her native tongue and said, {I am fairly certain that it is some kind of wandless magic, but how?}

Harry smiled broadly, (slightly) happy to have someone to talk with, and deciding to practice his French, {I'm not entirely sure, it started with me practicing wandless banishers, summoners, and hover charms. Then it just kind of... mutated from there when I started wondering just how much fine control I have...}

{Until you ended up with something that roughly resembles telekinesis?}

{Yup,} was his response as he pasted a goofy grin on his face.

At that particular carefree comment her left eyebrow twitched in a manner that had Harry fighting down a laugh.

She then said, {You are not entirely sane, are you?}

{Is anyone?}

{It is too early in the morning to play philosophy, are you or are you not insane?}

{I claim the defenses of coping mechanism, self-incrimination, and being sane when I started living with crazy people...}

{Do you ever give a straight answer?}

Harry grinned manically as a bowl of fruit appeared in front of him and he started juggling an apple, an orange, and a pear. {Depends on the subject of the conversation.}

{And what subjects, pray tell, do you take seriously?}

{Areas of academia that are clearly not a joke (he coughed something that vaguely sounded like divination), culture that isn't ridiculous (he again coughed sounding like 'what little of it'), and life-threatening situations. Everything else is fair game and a part of me really wants to go out with an off-color limerick or something as amusing on my lips, so I may very well end up joking around when my life is in danger anyway.}

She shook her head ruefully, and said, {You do not act like anyone your age that I have ever met.}

Harry caught the fruit he was juggling, while causing his nails to lengthen and sharpen to start peeling the rind from the orange. His face fell, and a look of deathly seriousness crossed his face, {That is because Britain's Boy-Who-Lived is a barely functioning parody of what it is to be human.}

She was brought to a full stop by his sudden change in mannerisms. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts to say, in a rather puzzled tone, {I am sorry?}

{Meh, I thought it would probably be best to get that out of the way. I figure if we were to actually become friendly, or even friends, that needs to be said. Part of me is amazed I am as seemingly sane as I am.}

She had a confused look on her face for a moment, before she simply nodded at that, and said, {Well, at least you seem capable of at least carrying on a reasonably intelligent conversation... as insane as it is at times. I am Fleur Delacour.}

{It is a pleasure to meet you, Fleur. I am Harry Potter, Fate's Bitch. Besides which, I actually find talking to crazy people quite enlightening, you never know when something brilliant will appear in the madness. So, are you actually a fan of Quidditch, or are you just along for the 'family vacation'?}

She grinned and the conversation wandered on from there.

* * *

The Delacours had chosen that day for a family outing to go sightseeing in muggle London, starting with eating out for breakfast. The explanation that they gave was that they did not want to impose during Harry's birthday, and so they were going to excuse themselves from the festivities.

Harry had gotten his presents from the two Blacks and one Wolf in the house following breakfast. He had gotten a practice snitch from Remus, a voucher for a new set of seeker pads from Sirius ("You won't really need them this year, I hear they are canceling the Inter-house Quidditch Cup this year because of the Tournament"), and Bellatrix had put together a photo album of Lily.

After giving him his presents, Sirius had gone off to his rooms, he had some paperwork to get caught up on and a few periodicals that had been delivered the day before. Remus had some new history texts he wanted to review and Bellatrix was going to join up with the Delacours.

Neville's birthday party this year had been a family affair, so Harry's birthday (which the birthday boy saw as merely an opportunity to get all of his friends together over the summer) was the first point in which everyone had done more than exchange post.

The first to arrive had been Hermione by Floo via the Leaky Cauldron, who greeted Harry with a light hug and asked, "I know you've said that you have been busy Harry, but how has you summer been?"

"Long. Exhausting. Yours?"

Frowning Hermione said, "A conversation should include actual words and sentences Harry. But to answer your question, I enjoyed my family's trip to France, we went to Nice this year. It also took me a little longer than I would have like to get my summer assignments done. Um..."

"Yes, my summer assignments are finished, Hermione."

Neville was the next to come to the Manor, and Harry couldn't help but mix metaphors. "Nev, you look like you have a chip on your shoulder, is there anything you want to get off your chest?"

The Longbottom heir turned a baleful eye on The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy, before ruefully shaking his head and saying, "Most of my relatives were being arses. Being in the top quarter of my class and I can still tell they think of me as the almost squib, even though they would never say it around Gran."

"And what is the reason for that?"

Taking a breath, Neville replied, "Gran is proud of me. Thanks, Harry. I don't see the rest of my relatives that often, most of them are smarmy arseholes anyway, and Gran really is the only one who matters. With that out of the way, how has your summer been, Harry?"

"Very long and immensely tiring. Uncle Nic and Aunt Pen decided that since danger seems to always know where I am, I should be dangerous enough that that fact should not matter. It has been working on the foundations of skill sets that I can build on in my own time, but they worked me to the bone."

Luna showed up next, greeting Harry with a brief hug, and said, right before any words made their way out of Harry's open mouth, "My summer has been quite wonderful, Harry. Father and I went to Sweden this year looking for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. We got really close, but we did not manage to find any. Maybe next year. Are you recovering from your summer?"

"Not yet, but I only got back to the Manor last night."

The Twins were the last to arrive, and Fred (at least Harry was fairly certain it was Fred, and the only way he was changing what he was calling each twin, who he could now tell apart, was if he definitively found out which name belonged to which) said, "Mum was upset that only Fred and I were invited. Little Ronnikins still gets upset that he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor and became your best mate."

George picked up the thought and continued, "And Mum apparently has designs on you and Gin-Gin getting close, though the little firecracker dumped almost all of her Harry Potter memorabilia after her first year, Fred was really surprised. Speaking of..."

"Mum was also angry when Dad put his foot down about Ginny going to a Mind Healer for some reason. Fred said a few days later that everyone in the family knows that it is Ron that needs a visit to a Healer with that specialization."

"Yeah, the little git has been going on about how Scabbers disappeared before school let out and is whining constantly about his lost rat, isn't that right, Fred?"

"Yes. Tosser was always going on about the hand-me-down pet, and now that he doesn't have it... Fred is right, he is a little git. We just told him that Scabbers was more than a decade old, and probably just scarpered off and just died of advanced age."

"Mum was also right brassed off about that."

Harry was just shaking his head by this point and said, "You two have managed to irritate her something fierce this year," they nodded their heads, again in perfect dissynchronization, and Harry continued, "Isn't that right, Fred and Fred?"

"Bugger," was George's reply, "We've been found out, George."

"Well, we have been having trouble tripping Harrykins here up recently, George."

* * *

The (so-called) party continued as everyone relaxed, played a few games, and got caught up in detail. Eventually talk rolled around to what they would be doing later in the summer.

George started off, "Well, Dad managed to get his hand on tickets to the World Cup. Enough tickets that both Bill and Charlie are taking some time off to come and watch the game."

Fred finished the explanation, "Charlie is actually at home right now, and Bill will be coming home from Egypt in about a week."

Neville said, "Well Gran doesn't really want to get tickets, and I really don't mind. I mean, I follow the Tornados, but I'm just not that into Quidditch that I want to camp out for a few days to watch one game. I've got a few new plants that I want to keep a close eye on and I'm seeing about finding the ideal conditions for a few plants that are being particularly... persnickety."

Hermione had sighed and said, "I really do not get what all the fuss is about Quidditch. Its dangerous and don't get me started on some of the rules. I have some light reading that I want to get caught up on."

Harry grinned and said, "Well, Fred and George, since Sirius got some tickets as well, I'll have to check up on you sometime before the Cup, make sure you two are behaving yourselves. It's a muggle camping ground... You two don't want to get in trouble for breaking the Statute, do you?

* * *

Toward the end of the party, Harry was pondering an idea Neville had given him.

"Has Sirius ever though of adding a greenhouse to the Manor, Harry? You could grow some of your own potions ingredients," he had had a few other ideas of why he should have a greenhouse.

The answer of course had been no, but having gotten over his dislike of gardening, Harry was thinking about reappropriating one of the unused rooms to grow something... maybe some roses with an herb garden, possibly a few vegetables too.

But then again he spent most of the year away from the Manor, and so it probably wouldn't be a good hobby if he had to start over each summer.

Harry had gotten mostly books from his friends, though Fred and George had given him a few of their creations that had passed most of their testing, though if he had any issues or ideas, he should tell them. Hermione had gotten him four interesting science fiction and fantasy books, and Neville had had a copy made of a book his family had on elemental magic. Hermione had asked if she could read it after Harry had finished with it.

* * *

Harry spent the few weeks until the World Cup split between his usual studying habits, his usual training habits, making a list of possible hobbies so that he could avoid draining the Potter library dry before Fate stopped finding him amusing and decided to put him out of his misery, and getting to know the house guests (and Bella).

Gabrielle was a bright little ray of sunshine, like almost all seven year old girls are. As long as Harry tried to be amusing in some way, she managed to be all bubbly and giggly. She was also a right little terror when she didn't get her way, so Harry kept her as distracted as possible when he was in her company for any length of time.

Jean-Paul was apparently the French equivalent of Head Auror... and when he found out Harry had a secondary shield focus, he practically dragged the Potter Heir to the sparring room to get a good look at it. The next half an hour Harry spent either on the move or behind various shield spells (which he often layered). Harry could tell that the man was going easy on him (as compared to Sirius who would lazily add his own potshots in when he was having Harry dodge incoming spellfire from the training dummies), though when Jean-Paul finally stopped and told him he was exceptional in shielding and dodging for someone who hadn't even finished his O.W.L.s (though the man had originally mentioned the french equivalent and had to clarify) it gave Harry a small sense of accomplishment.

When he asked why Harry was so skilled at those two particular skills, Jean-Paul only got four words in response.

"He is not dead."

Confusion, understanding, and a touch of fear crossed the man's features, before he finally said, "Hit me with you best non-lethal shot."

Harry snapped off a chain of ten to fourteen (he no longer kept track of how long his spell chains of this kind were) spells, consisting mainly of nuisance curses with a few low power bludgeoners and stunners. The man tried to dodge to the left to find himself boxed in by a gout of flame, and was forced to shield a trio of stunners, before yelling, "Stop!"

He continued, "Remind me never to underestimate you again, Harry. Or allow you a free shot. Were those silent?"

"Sub-vocal mostly, except the stunners and a few of the nuisance curses. I've also cut all the wand movements for most of that down to half, though I've almost got my stunners down to point casting."

Jean-Paul looked at the teenager in front of him questioningly.

Harry rolled his eyebrows and said, "He'll claw his way back into a body sooner or later, and Dark Lords are known for their egos. I'll be his first and biggest target. I don't intend to go down in anything other than a great, big, spectacular mess."

The Frenchman nodded and said, "That tends to be the motto of Hit Wizards the world over."

"I'll remember that if I live long enough to have a career."

Jean-Paul then gave Harry a few dozen tips on dueling, and an invitation to bombard him with owls if the young man ever needed more advice in combat.

As for Mrs. Delacour, Apolline, Harry didn't have much contact with outside of meals and a time or two Harry spent getting to know Bella (which netted Harry a few good stories involving his mother, one of which was infinitely amusing and involved stripping Sirius of his dignity by means of a bottle of fire whiskey, ten pounds of feathers, and a potion which caused him to glow pink) and what he did learn was that whatever magical being that the Delacour daughters came from, it was not active in either of their parents. He idly wondered if it was a female trait that skipped a generation through their father. What he found out about the woman was that she was a fierce stickler for good manners at the table and had a particularly sharp tongue when it came to enforcing said manners.

As for Fleur, they spent time occasionally talking, either about academics (Fleur was at first pleasantly surprised that Harry though going into his fourth year could keep pace with some of the topics she brought up), both magical and mundane culture, in which Harry voiced that English wizarding culture hadn't changed in at least a century (probably more), Fleur had agreed and she pointed out it was the same for most of Europe, except it was only a few decades rather than centuries, as for the mundane, Harry was only irreverent at a few things that were called 'art'.

Fleur was once more surprised at how much he knew over a range of subjects, which Harry blew off as being a result of too much free time and wanting to read something different, and therefore digging out a magazine or book on a new subject.

Harry had summed it up nicely by saying, "I know a little about a lot."

They had also spent some time talking about some of the things they did for enjoyment. Harry had pointed out his obvious 'mad scientist' habits and Fleur apparently liked to knit. When Harry froze up in disbelief, she unshrunk a bag, and lo and behold, knitting supplies we contained within!

Of course the topic of the Triwizard Cup eventually came up...

{I am going to at least submit my name for the competition,} Fleur had said.

{I am going to say two things. First would be the obligatory 'good luck', and the second is going to have to be me pointing out the fact that I have yet to have what would amount to a normal school year in the magical world, and that no one who knows me is willing to match my twenty galleons on the feeling I have that somehow, someway I am going to be forced to compete.}

{And just how would you be forced to compete?}

{I've done a lot of research into the Triwizard using the Potter Library...}

Harry had mentioned the Potter Library one of the times they had talked of their studies, and the young woman had gotten a far off look in her eyes at the mention of all those books. She still got that look whenever he mentioned the treasure trove of books, and it unsettled him a little.

{And what I've found is that they use an object called the Goblet of Fire as an impartial judge to determine the contestants.}

{Really? And what have you found on this Goblet, Harry?}

A look of distaste crossed his face, and he continued, {That a similar object makes appearances in wizarding history as early as Rome and the Colosseum. It was used to bind magical beings into the Games. It made it so that they would have to compete to the best of their abilities, or else suffer from the countermeasures installed into it.}

For a few minutes all that passed between the two were silence, and then she asked, {Has anyone in the history of the Triwizard been entered against their will? And, I'm a little afraid to ask, but counter-measures?}

Harry sighed, and then said, {Unknown. There is nothing in the accounts of each of the times the Triwizard took place, but it could have just been covered up... As for the counter-measures, it is quite simple. Pain. Great pain that increases until either the subject complies or dies.}

She frowned at the first fact, turned slightly green (which strangely failed to mar her beauty), and then said, {If you don't mind me asking, do you know how the Goblet chooses the contestants.}

{It will pick whoever will give the best show. From what I've been able to dig up on studies about it, the level of intelligence and awareness that it has is actually quite frightening. It can apparently take into account skill and power level, with other variables following after. During Rome's blood sports it never failed to arrange a good show.}

{So, if someone puts your name into the Goblet...}

{I'm betting on my involvement coming out of left field as the Yanks say, so I think that a good many people are going to be... irritated with the English when the Champions are chosen.}

{You do know that you could just be paranoid.}

{Well to that I have at least two answers. The first is that if you are expecting the worst, then when it doesn't happen you can be pleasantly surprised, but if it does you are armed and ready for war. The second is that just because you are paranoid doesn't mean that someone isn't out to get you. Hell I think Fate takes joy in my suffering, I got attacked by the almost every last Dementor that was stationed at Hogwarts for no other reason than I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.}

{When you put it that way, how likely is it that you think I could win against you?}

{I've been slowly getting myself ready with the belief that Voldemort is not in the grave and that one of his primary goals will be my death. My forced competition in the Triwizard will be like me waging war against however many tasks there are.}

She laughed, and he felt the energy around her brush up against his shields as she said, {Now I don't know who to feel sorry for, you, the other Champions, or the tasks themselves...}

{How about all of the above?}

* * *

A week before the World Cup was set to take place, all of the adults decided that, even though they all had seats that would entitle them to arrive the day before in order to get their seats, they would be remiss to skip the opportunity to camp among so many other wizards from all around the world.

Sirius had managed to somehow snag a reservation right by one of the water spigots. He said his reasoning was that all of the maps had the water spigots marked and anyone who wanted to find them could just go to the water spigot, and so they would be able to meet people easily.

They set up all of one tent, but what a tent it was. Everyone had their own room, with a couple to spare, there was a three to one ratio of people to bathrooms, which a few of the womenfolk complained about, but was still viewed as 'acceptable'.

One issue was that this was technically a muggle camping ground, and so Harry's familiars, well the one that couldn't disguise herself, as Leon was quite smug about being able to perfectly imitate a husky with a black and dark gray coat while Hedwig returned to looking like a snowy owl. Isis had to be put under a glamor that made her look like some sort of constrictor.

Not fifteen minutes after they had finished setting up, at around about three in the afternoon, Harry was dive-bombed by an owl. Taking the letter, he asked the owl if it would mind waiting to make a return trip. He read the letter as he stepped into the tent looking for parchment and ink, with the owl on one shoulder, and Hedwig making it known to the interloper that Harry was hers by taking up her place on the other.

Five minutes later the owl was winging away, with a reply to Ivan.

* * *

Not fifteen minutes later, as Harry was walking around the outside of tent reading a book, he put his book down, and grinned. He then caught up in a great big bear hug, and bodily lifted from the ground.

|Argh, Ivan, put me down, you stinking Cossack!|

|Bah, you are just most displeased that a large person like me can lift a rag doll like you.|

As his friend set him back down on the ground, Harry got a good look at his friend. He had sprouted up to somewhere in the mid five foot range, and his build resembled what Harry thought a medieval warrior would have. His dirty blond hair now reached to his shoulders and looked like a shaggy mess, while his eyes had taken on a distinctly yellow hue. Harry half closed his eyes for a moment and felt the magic around his friend.

And his eyes snapped open a moment later. |How close to controlling it are you?|

|Very close. With the 'bane the transformations do not even hurt anymore, and we've started playing with my dosage. The beast is completely pacified during even the fullest moon at only half of what I need to take.|

|Congratulations, my very large friend. Any particular reason we are speaking Bulgarian?|

|Because, I wanted to see if you speak it as well as you write it, and finally put to rest my family's disbelief that I have Harry Potter as a pen pal.|

|Should I bring the menagerie or have them stay here?|

|If they don't mind staying...|

~I am quite comfortable lying here in the sun, Harry...~

*If it's no trouble when you're gone, get me a ham. If you can't get me a ham, have the dogman that is afraid of cats or the wolfman that is afraid of bunnies get me some fresh meat... And then see about instilling a fear of mice into the catlady. That would make some of the various insanities around here at least seem balanced.*

Hedwig's answer was to come perch herself on Harry's shoulder for a moment to affectionately nibble his ear and then flew off.

|The consensus is that they are quite fine here... Though Leon seems to be hungry.|

Ivan chuckled as he placed a large arm around Harry's shoulders and half-dragged the boy-who-lived off.

* * *

A short walk, during which Harry and Ivan discussed who they felt sorry for the most, the muggles who were Obliviated repeatedly when they saw the wizards showing off (even Ivan found the tents with his brother's photo plastered all over them in bad taste, while Harry couldn't help but pity whoever thought making their tents look like small green hillocks was a good idea), or the Oblivators being forced to work overtime with the sheer amount of work they had ahead of them.

They eventually came to the conclusion that it was at best six of one and half a dozen of the other, so everyone was to be felt sorry for, including themselves who had to witness this travesty of people in large groups acting like complete morons.

After what both found to a be a walk that was both entertaining and despairing (Ivan said, |How the hell the non-magicals haven't found out about magic yet is beyond me|), they reached the set of tents where apparently a good portion of the Bulgarian team's families had set up, including Ivan's.

As they stepped into the tent belonging to the Were's family, he gave a rather cheeky grin and yelled out, |For those of you who did not believe me about the identity of my pen-pal, may I introduce, Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived...|

|And Fate's Whipping Boy!|

* * *

Ivan's mother and father were present, with Viktor having a practice session with his team. One of the first thing the pair of parents did was to apologize to their son for not believing him. The conversation from there varied from why the hell The-Boy-Who-Lived was at a werewolf retreat, Quidditch, what his studies were like and how well he did (Ivan and Harry got off on a tangent on just how many potions knives a person needed, with Harry supporting the side of the argument that you could never have enough blades, so long as each one was a different metal or had a different purpose, Ivan debating the point that a basic potions kit included all the knives a student would need), more Quidditch, magical creatures (Harry was of the opinion that unicorns got a bad reputation, when the males were well known to gore people with their horns, |Sissy my left buttock| he had said, Ivan just nodded in agreement with wide eyes, never having thought to think of it that way, while the Bulgarian's parents wondered how insane the most famous teen in wizarding England was), and, of course, Quidditch.

It was an hour and a half later, with Mr. and Mrs. Krum were watching Harry and Ivan debate the effectiveness of twins as Beaters, with Harry using his good friends and partners-in-pranking Fred and George as a prime example, when a young man, taller than Ivan, thin and sallow, with dark hair and eyes, slumped into a chair.

|I would have to agree with your friend here, Ivan, those twins sound like a right terror on the pitch... So who is your friend anyway?|

Ivan grinned maliciously as he introduced his brother to the pen-pal he said did not exist. Harry lifted his bangs with a smirk on his face. Viktor just sat there for a few minutes, completely gobsmacked. He then reached into his pocket and threw a small leather bag at his brother's head, which Ivan caught, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

|Bah, don't be so pleased with yourself, it just seemed so... unlikely. So, my brother says you play Seeker for one of you school teams... What is your record?|

|Three years, three games a year, never missed a catch.|

Viktor smirked at that, and said, |Then how about...|

|No.|

The Quidditch super-star frowned and said, |But you didn't know what...|

|I am humble enough, thank you very much. I don't need an ass-kicking by a world class Seeker who made it to the Finals of the World Cup.|

Ivan just laughed at the surly look his brother got on his face, |Good god Vik, you don't have to be such a man-child about it.|

This got the younger brother a scowl and an harrumph from the elder, which only made Ivan laugh all the harder.

Harry was invited to stay for dinner, but left, saying, "I don't want to impose."

As he strolled through the woods, he felt something barrel into his leg. As he looked down, he prayed that it was not some other rare magical animal that has decided to 'adopt' him (Harry would later swear that fate found the number of rare 'pets' it landed him with as amusing as all of the life threatening occasions it put him in), and saw what appeared to be a male lion, the size of a large house cat... with metallic fur the color of platinum.

Staring down at the animal, which was looking back with smiling eyes, trying its very best to look cute, he said, "Yes yes, you are absolutely adorable, but I thought Nemean Lions were supposed to be golden in color... and much larger."

The only response that Harry got from the little blighter was a grin (which had him scratching his head at how a feline could do it so very clearly), a grin that reminded him of...

"Stop smiling that or I will name you Cheshire."

It kept on grinning at him.

"Goddamn it, you like that name don't you.

Grin.

Harry rolled his eyes, scooped up the animal, and started walking again. He absently started scratching the feline between the ears. It started purring.

"An absolutely adorable pain in my ass. And I have a feeling you are never going to tell me where the hell you came from."

* * *

When he got back to the tent, he got a few stares (almost entirely from the Delacours) and Gabrielle asked, {Where'd you get the kitty...}

{The kitty found me.}

{Why does is look like a little lion?}

{I was planning on asking it myself...}

Harry closed his eyes and then sent a message along the bonds he had with his familiars, *Isis, Leon, Hedwig, my room, right now, if you please.*

As Harry walked into the his room, Gabrielle asked him, {But how are you gonna ask him, kitties can't speak.}

{Not unless they are a person's familiar. Then they can talk to their wizard.}

She made an adorable expression of understanding. While she was processing that bit of information, he ushered her out of his room, and then set Cheshire down on his bed. It immediately changed itself into a full size lion.

Which caused his bed to collapse.

Harry started swearing in a few different dialects spoken in China.

* * *

The meeting between Harry and his familiars yielded the fact that Cheshire was indeed a bonded familiar, and was capable of communicating with Harry and the other animals, it just apparently did not have all that much to say. As for the answers of what it was and where it came from, all the answers Harry got were a 'you don't know jack about Nemean Lions' to the former and laughter to the latter.

Harry left the room, contemplating how effectively he could Obliviate himself into blissful ignorance, Cheshire on his heels, back to his 'kitty' size. Throwing himself down into a chair at the kitchen table, he addressed Sirius, who was drinking some tea, "Oh my Godfather, king of the man-whores, another animal has adopted me under the guise of being my familiar. Just thought I should warn you."

Padfoot gagged and started coughing, the tea obviously not agreeing with either its drinker, or what he was hearing, and after he finally finished coughing, he said, "Seriously, Harry? That makes four now doesn't it? Can't you start turning them away or something?"

"Not bloody likely."

"So what is it?"

"He is apparently a platinum colored Nemean Lion, and instead of being a valid threat, he actually seems to like being called Cheshire."

Sirius just stared at his godson.

"I swear, if I ever survive past twenty, I will no longer be able to tell the strange from the normal. At least how those two words are defined in the wizarding world."

* * *

The next couple of days passed quickly enough, Harry having spent most of them outside, lying in the sun reading a book. Harry also took the occasional walk with Ivan (who got introduced to all of the people occupying the same tent as Harry, though there were some language barrier issues) where the pair pointed out the stupidity of various wizards, and offering their sympathy to any of the overworked Oblivators.

He also spent a little time with his friend's family, who apparently took a real shine to the young (forced) hero. Viktor still seemed a little miffed at the fact that Harry had absolutely no interest in getting his ass handed to him, but otherwise, he got along decently with the only survivor of the killing curse.

They also talked about the fact that the full moon was taking place the day before the match, but Ivan's family kept a supply of the 'bane under stasis charms knowing this beforehand, so that Ivan would have a dose. Harry mentioned how Remus would be going back to the manor, to spend the night, even if he was also on the 'bane.

* * *

Harry went to bed the Friday night before the World Cup (though there were those who would call when he went to bed extremely early Saturday morning, where Harry would respond with a polite "stuff it up your backside sideways, I only need, at most, two hours sleep"), and soon found himself pulled into an odder dream than normal.

He was sitting in a partially destroyed chair, in a ruined room. There was a short pudgy man there that Harry didn't recognize. The other details were hard to focus on, and any sound seemed to be distorted and filled with static. The edges of what his eyes could see were... fraying for lack of a better word.

Only a few snippets of the conversation were clear to him, he heard 'My Lord', 'Nagini', 'Wormtail' (a fire was lit in his mind at the mention of the traitor), 'Quidditch' 'Cup', his own name...

The conversation was interrupted when a man with whitish-yellow (platinum blond maybe) hair shoved an elderly man into the room.

It was at that time that the dream, or what ever it was, just seemed to dissolve, dropping Harry into the inner sanctum of his mind.

"That was most definitely not normal, and it was not one of those little retrospectives I think I have been treated to before..."

He started pacing back and forth, thinking. He had been planning an overhaul into how he organized his thoughts, knowledge, and memories... Along with implementing a few of his more... radical... ideas of how to work his mind.

And one of those ideas could possibly give him some answers... If it worked.

He called forth a trio of chairs, sitting in one and then creating two copies of himself in the others, being careful to leave them completely untouched (internal thought-wise at least) by his conscious mind. He then started to, ever so gently, push his instinctual mind toward one and his subconscious into the other.

He was not sure for how long he worked, with great care and gentleness that caused him to ache, until he heard two voices speak at just about the same time. One, with harder edges than he normally had whispered out, "Damn..." while the other said, with a bit of unfocused distance in its voice, "It actually worked..."

Having closed his eyes in concentration, Harry opened them now, and saw the two... aspects of himself watching him intently. On his left, having discarded the glasses he always wore, was a Harry who kept his hair shorter, and it seemed even wilder than it used to be. His eyes were the same green he always (tried) to keep them, but the pupils were now vertically slit, like some kind of reptile or cat. He was grinning now, his canines were noticeably longer and sharper, and the grin itself was somewhat feral. His fingers on the armrests of the chair now had the nails looking significantly thicker and sharper, almost like claws.

To his right, the changes were fewer, with hair much longer than he kept it in casual settings (let's face it, long hair is a liability in a fight or when doing potions (and now alchemy) work), with eyes a few shades paler and duller, and had a distant look on his face.

Harry-Prime ('I am going to drive myself even more insane' he thought) addressed his two aspects, "Well, gentlemen, we have work to do."

The pair nodded, and Subconscious-Harry said, "The dream that was not a dream, correct?"

Prime nodded, and said, "Anything else?"

Subconscious closed his eyes for a moment, and then sighed say, "It originated from the lock-down, and that is all. It was already frayed from being locked away"

Instinct growled out one word, with infinite venom infused into it, "Voldemort."

Prime nodded, saying, "Probably. I... we? Should tell Padfoot at least."

Both of the aspects nodded their assent, and Prime forged on, "Now onto the second thing that has been bugging me... What the hell is our... my... Animagus form? All the mediation is giving me a positive for the ability, but jack shit on what it is."

Instinct made a thoughtful growling sound, closing his eyes for a moment. "No bleeding clue. I've got a nice portion of strength, but until you put me in this shell, I was completely formless. We likely don't have one."

Prime frowned and said, "I, we'll keep trying and hope that the process will bring a form about. Is there anything else?"

The aspects shook their heads, so Prime nodded, and then dissolved into thin air.

Instinct eyed Subconscious and said, "Think we should have told him that his repressing his attraction to Fleur?"

"And have it denied left, right, and center? No, no thank you."

"Think he'll make more aspects?"

"Who knows..."

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the night/early morning buried in his books, reports, and other readings. The first one up, as always, aside from him, was Fleur. She sat down in a seat across from him at the kitchen table.

{Morning, Harry. Reading anything interesting?}

Harry grunted, and said, {Didn't sleep well...}, by way of apology.

She grinned and said, {You sleep? You are usually still awake when the last night owl goes to bed, and you still are the first up and ready to face the day.}

{I've never had my Occlumency rated, but I've been working on it since I've been eleven, and it has always been easy...}

She blinked at this bit of information. Yes, they had talked about the internal Mind Art (Harry refused to simply call it defensive when it did so much more) on occasion, and Harry had touched on the fact that it helped on require less sleep, {Just how little sleep do you get by on, Harry?}

He held up a pair of fingers.

{So why didn't you sleep well? Nightmare?}

A great rousing round of silence was her answer.

She looked at him for a moment, a frown on her face, and then asked, {Are there worse things in your dreams than nightmares?}

She got her answer by the sudden blanking of his face.

She closed her eyes for a few moments, at the thought of what worse things could await someone with such a hard life. She then got up, and said, {Have you eaten yet, Harry?}

He shook his head.

{I'm making myself some pancakes, would you like some?}

Again, a silent negative reply.

She couldn't help but worry about what could drive the mad ball of energy that Harry Potter apparently was into silence and stillness.

* * *

Sirius eventually dragged his backside out of bed, Harry grabbed him by the ear and pulled his godfather back into his bedroom. And when Harry unloaded what he had... seen... Sirius's face blanked when Harry had finished with his idea that Voldemort, Wormtail, and what looked to be an older version of Draco Malfoy were all together.

The two loyal Marauders and the heir to Prongs all knew well that the rat was still alive, they just didn't know where he was hiding. That he was now possibly planning with Voldemort and another Death Eater... It was not good. Even worse was that Harry was mentioned in someway in the conversation.

"So, Siri, what are we going to do about it?"

"If I know you, you've been drawing up plans for armor of all shapes and sizes."

"True."

"Whats the heaviest you've got planned?"

"Basilisk hide trench coat, boots, and gloves, with rune arrays on the lining for comfort, fit, mobility, and additional armor. I've got a strange brew in the works with my alchemy research that can convert leathers into textiles, with minor losses on durability and spell resistance. Still haven't gotten the mix quite right yet. It still destroys the material as often as it successfully changes it. One I get that squared away, I'll make some clothes out of it and add similar rune arrays to another layer of cloth it would be paired with."

"Make underlays to wear under your everyday clothes out of the cloth, give you some protection even if someone gets the drop on you. You already know not to go anywhere without your wand. If you do run into snakeface, fight to kill, because you know he will. Though always keep an eye open for a way to escape. As for other things... Be careful, don't take strange objects from strangers, and if you are in danger, curse first and ask questions later. We don't know enough to make any other plans."

Harry nodded, and said, "I think I am going to go meditate, get centered..."

Sirius grinned and said, "It isn't good to be so serious..."

"True, why in the world would we need more of you around. One is already more than enough."

"Why you...!"

* * *

Harry spent the next day and a half holed up in his room. After the first six hours spent bringing himself back to normal (for him), he went over all the notes he had on his projects, specifically anything and everything on rune arrays that provide protection, both against spells and physical damage.

After cleaning up the work and tweaking the arrays to get some more efficiency out of them, he put them onto every piece of clothing that he had. He then started working on stringing together as nasty a spell chain as he could manage, bone exploders, explosions, high level fire, and worse things.

He finally crawled out of his room the morning of the twenty-first. The Quidditch World Cup was tomorrow. Fred and George would be getting to the camping grounds today. They had written a few days ago with an invitation to visit them and meet the last of the Weasley brothers.

* * *

It was a normal looking tent, well it would have been if it was actually put together.

George yelled out, "Harry! Good to see you, mate!"

Harry saw Ronald stiffen and shoot him a dark look, before picking up a bucket and a scrap of paper before marching off. Harry moved to stand next to George as a Weasley he had yet to meet moved to stand on his other side, and asked, "Do you need some help?"

The tall man, with dragonhide boots and one earring that had a fang dangling from it, replied, "Yes please. Or help me convince Dad to just use a charm to assemble it. He's been at it for an hour and a half now. I'm Bill, by the way. The Twins have said only good things about you, though Ron. Ron has been showing some of the problems that come from growing up the youngest among six brothers"

"Good to meet you, Bill. Part of me would want to say that muggles might become suspicious if it took too long to set up a tent, but some people just aren't that capable. So using that as an excuse might not work," Harry heard something part way between a giggle and a laugh come from the eldest male Weasley, and continued, "Besides he seems to be having fun. Just get your Dad to agree that if he doesn't have it up by dusk, to do it the easy way."

The eldest son sighed, and said, "Damn. You're right..."

"Look on the bright side, with him focused on getting the tent up the muggle way, he won't be insisting on getting the cooking done in the same manner."

One last red-headed male came over and said, "Bill, we need to get a pit dug for a fire. I know enough about looking like a group of muggles camping, so while Dad is busy with the tent, we should get the cooking done."

"Harry here just said we should get started on that if we wanted to get it done without being forced by Dad to go completely muggle."

Grinning Charlie stuck out his hand and said, "The Twins have nothing but good things to say about their favorite non-Weasley seeker. I'm Charlie."

While Harry helped the pair with the cooking he asked about their jobs. Bill was a curse-breaker, a career were only the best survived. If you needed to break into an ancient structure with traps and wards? A curse-breaker was who you called.

Charlie was also in a field with a high degree of danger. He was a dragon handler. He worked on a preserve in Romania, where they kept a few good sized flights of all of the major European breeds of dragon.

All Harry knew about what he wanted to do later in life (if Fate allowed him to live that long) was that he didn't want to be in constant danger, so while he paid attention and politely asked questions, the records of this conversation would probably languish in the vaults of his mind.

* * *

The next morning, Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, juggling fruit. Two apples, an orange, and a pear to be exact. He'd had company from his familiars for when he holed up (Cheshire was good company, general distaste of talking aside), but he could use some human conversation.

He idly pondered on the formulas that would convert leather to textiles while he waited for someone to get up. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long of a match, something going on for days... He wanted to get back to his things.

Fleur dragged herself into the kitchen with more grace than the majority of humanity manages to have in the morning, slumped into a chair, noticed Harry, and then blinked several times, {Morning, Harry.}

He put the fruit down and got up out of his seat, and started looking around in the cabinets and ice-chest to figure out what he was going to make for breakfast, {Good morning, Fleur. I want to say how sorry I am for how I acted on Saturday morning...}

{Something had upset you, there's no need to apologize... But...}

{You want to know what had me acting so unlike myself. What do you want to eat?}

She nodded and said, {Eggs and bacon?}

Pulling out what he would need for the meal, he said, {What had me so shaken stems from the fact that not all of the things I see when I dream come from my own head...}

There was silence for several minutes, broken only by the sounds of Harry cooking up the bacon, finally the first words spoken were, {So, how do you want your eggs today?}

* * *

The rest of the day rolled on, with talk of what upset Harry (whatever it was as Sirius and likely Remus were the only others who knew exactly what it was), falling by the wayside. Fleur had challenged Harry to a game of chess out of sheer boredom, and that is how they passed most of the day, sitting in the grass using a completely mundane chess set, chatting. Then dusk came, and everyone could feel the excitement in the air, and Harry would be getting ten galleons from Ivan next time he saw the Bulgarian, who had bet that the Ministry would give up sooner (before the day of the Quidditch Cup) rather than later (the day of the match), in their attempts to suppress blatant use of magic. Harry knew to never underestimate the stubbornness of the bureaucracy.

The Delacours were firm in their support of the Bulgarians, while the majority of the English contingent were rooting for the Irish.

Harry was all for both. He just wanted to watch a good match. He didn't buy much, never having had the urge to collect trinkets, settling on a pair of omnioculars, which were basically magical binoculars with lots of special features, and a program for the festivities of the World Cup.

He could see himself getting a lot of use from the omnioculars.

When a gong finally sounded, everyone headed off toward the stadium.

* * *

Up in the Top Box of the stadium Harry found himself sitting between Fleur and an empty seat, which was soon filled by Ivan jumping over the back into it from behind.

Harry started the conversation with a solid poke to the language barrier, "I don't know if we all share a language besides English..."

Ivan grunted and said, "My English is better than it was two years ago, and the only other language I know is German..."

Fleur nodded and said, "I can speak English if the situation calls for it, but that is the only other one I speak."

Ivan grunted and said, "Just how many languages do you speak, Harry..."

"Including Troll?"

Fleur face-palmed at that quip while Ivan commented, "Troll consists of pointing and grunting, everyone speaks Troll, so no, don't count it..."

Harry grinned sheepishly, and said, "More than thirty..."

Fleur blinked at that and spoke "Do you think that it is one of your magical talents to learn languages?"

Harry shook his head and said, "I think that it is just a function of perfect memory and intellect, though a talent for it may help. I really don't have a clue what all of my talents are."

They both nodded, and the proceeded to start looking everywhere and anywhere, curious about the stadium. Harry saw the Weasleys and Minister Fudge, and then he proceeded to get a good look at the massive stadium, after a few minutes he finally stuck his nose into the program.

"Says here that there is going to be a pregame show with mascots. Who wants to bet that the Irish brought leprechauns?"

Ivan sighed and said, "No. I am not getting fleeced by you, Harry."

Fleur shook her head and spoke, "You're probably right, Harry, I however am curious as to what the Bulgarians will show..."

Ivan grinned and said, "Wait and see, wait and see..."

* * *

Soon enough the havoc of one hundred thousand people being seated had settled down, and a voice, some announcer probably, said, "Welcome one and all to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World cup. And now we will begin with the Bulgarian National Team's mascots!"

The applause were rather deafening to the kicking off of the event, and onto the field walk... women? Harry arched an eyebrow at what was going on. Yes, certainly they were beautiful women but... He saw Fleur's eyes narrow at the corner of his field of vision and he heard her hiss something that sounded vaguely like, {Harlots...}, before she started vanishing everything she had that showed support of the Bulgarian team. He felt a brush along his shields similar to what he sometimes felt around Fleur, but this was far stronger, and there were more of it, but the result of it was the same. Nothing.

Then the women started to dance. Harry felt a fire lit in his head, just outside his shields, among other places, and the magic filling his being responded viciously. He clutched the sides of his head in pain and screwed his eyes shut, and then he recognized what he thought was his body countering a sudden spike in the production of certain hormones and neurochemicals. He quickly sensed that the net result of the spike would focus on driving him into a frenzy to impress those of the female gender. That combined with what could have resulted from the allure touching his mind... Well it would leave him with very little dignity.

As he opened his eyes, he saw Fleur eying him. A look of surprise tinged with worry was on her face, and he offered her a weak smile before turning to look at the dancing... whatever they were with a scowl of distaste on his face. Harry didn't like it when anyone tried to play with his thought processes.

After the Bulgarian mascots had whipped the men of the crowd into a near frenzy, the announcement, "And now, introducing the Irish National Team's mascots!", leprechauns came out, did some rather delightful formation flying, before dumping gold onto the crowd.

Harry muttered, "Turn about is indeed fair play," as the announcer introduced the teams.

* * *

The game was vicious, Viktor managed to catch the Irish Seeker in a Wronski Feint, and Harry was fairly certain the man would be feeling it next week. The mascots of both teams got into a massive brawl, and the game ended with the Irish winning by ten points, with Viktor catching the Snitch.

Eventually they ended up back at the tent, and they all spent some time talking about the game. The Delacours had changed their minds about the Bulgarian Team and were quite happy that they lost. Gabrielle's favorite parts were when Lynch, the Irish Seeker, ploughed himself into the ground the first time and when there was a brawl on the field.

Eventually everyone, except Harry, headed off to bed. Harry continued to sit at the table, reading about leprechauns and drinking a cup of tea. An hour or two later, he heard a change in the ruckus outside, followed by a scream of terror.

He ran out of the tent, and caught a glimpse of people in black cloaks... with white masks. His eyes narrowed, and he hissed out two words as he spun on his heel and ran back into the tent.

"Death Eaters..."

* * *

Moments later, everyone else was up, Sirius, Remus, Bella, and Jean-Paul looking ready for a fight. Apolline made a comment about seeing if anyone had set up first aid tents and offering her help. Harry and Fleur were told in no uncertain terms that they were to take Gabrielle and hide in the woods.

As they made to leave the tent, Sirius grabbed Harry by the shoulder and said, "If you see any Dark spells coming in your direction, respond with full lethality."

Harry nodded in response and motioned for Fleur, who was carrying her sister, to lead that way, while he called his wand forth with a snap of his fingers, "I'll cover you. Hedwig, go with Sirius."

She looked Harry in the eye and nodded, though she paused for a moment when she saw his hair shortened from shoulder length to less than two inches, becoming an untameable mess in the process. Shaking her head, she set off at a brisk pace that was easily matched by Harry, who followed with the incantations of any of two dozen spells ready to fly from his lips. Isis was draped over his shoulders, while Leon and Cheshire strode on either side of Harry, Leon easily twice the size of any normal wolf walking the earth, and Cheshire matching him for size.

* * *

They eventually reached a clearing in the forest, where the sounds of the chaos of whatever was happening was dimmed. Fleur, Gabrielle having fallen back asleep in her arms as they were fleeing, set her sister down, laying her against a tree and a cushioning charm. She then drew her own wand and glanced around the clearing.

She then turned to Harry and spoke, {You never said you were a metamorphmagus...}

He grinned sadly and said, {It is something that I have quite a bit of confusion about.}

She looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded before replying, {That makes sense... I suppose you have a few questions about why my family reacted so badly to the Bulgarian mascots?}

Harry gave a sad little half smirk, and said, {Only if you are comfortable with me asking.}

She blinked in surprise at that and said, {Probably easier to explain first and then have you ask whatever questions you may have...}

{Again, only if you want to. Unlike a friend of mine, I don't have a pathological need for answers.}

She sighed, but smiled brightly, saying, {Then I think I should tell you that I am not what most would consider entirely human. I am, like those... _harlots_... who paraded themselves around under the guise of being a mascot, a Veela.}

She closed her eyes, apparently gathering her thoughts and continued, {Veela are a race that were effected by the magics of nymphs, similar to dryads and naiads, except where they were of trees and fresh water, Veela are of air and fire.}

She took a breath, before moving on, {And the magic of this race breeds true in the female branches of the family. If a Veela has a son, that child's daughters are far more likely than not to be Veela. There are no 'part-Veela' as is so often used as a reference to how many generations removed from a Veela mother a female child is. It is only a matter of how strong the Veela magic is in the person in question.}

She sighed and finish, {So, now you know. Any questions.}

Harry shook his head, and stared off into the trees, before saying, {Thank you for sharing, it cleared up a few thinks that puzzling me... So I might as well share something of my own... The reason why my talent as a metamorphmagus confuses me so much is that it is so strong that it makes me wonder if I am entirely human anymore.}

He switched his wand into his left hand, and held up his right. Fleur watched as the flesh and bone of the extremity shifted and changed before it resembled a hairless version of the claw one might see on a highly developed Werewolf at the full moon.

She just stared Harry in the eye as he grimaced and forced his hand back to normal. They remained silent for sometime, before there was a flash of green light in the sky, and a skull with a snake coming from it's mouth floated high in the sky.

Harry just looked at it for a few minutes before saying, {The Dark Mark flies once more... And from here it looks to be right next to Mars, which seems unnaturally bright tonight... Nothing good will come of this.}

Hedwig flashed into the clearing fifteen minutes later, telling Harry and Fleur to return to the tent. By the time they had gotten back, everything was packed up, and the two who were without apparation licenses, or the skill itself, were brought side-along back to the Manor.

* * *

The Delacour family stayed at the Marauders' Manor for two more days before they returned home to France.

Jean-Paul bid Harry goodbye with a strong handshake (and a few more whispered combat tips), while Gabrielle decided that occasion deserved some strange combination of a flying tackle and a hug. Fleur gave him a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, the latter of which he returned, while she said, {I'll plan for the worst, and if it does not occur, I expect you to cheer for me to win the Triwizard.}

{And when I am forced to compete?}

{I'll do everything in my power to give you a run for your money, Harry.}

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapter 36 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 6:45 PM, 15 November, 2012, these were the statistics of that chapter of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 36:**

**Word Count: 9,364 | Character Count: 51,889 | Hits: 48,268 | Reviews: 127**

**New Total Word Count: 11,265 | New Total Character Count: 61,537**


	14. The Triwizard Tournament

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **  


******She most especially owns the Sorting Hat's song, as the one in this chapter is direct from the Goblet of Fire.  
**

* * *

**A/N: As always, my thanks goes out to those who are kind enough to review. Thank you.**

**Chapter title again recycled. :P**

**Also, the last chapter of the revision has been finished, and I took the weekend off. I should start working on Chapter 19, tentatively titled Yule, tomorrow. Also today's chapter is late due to a VERY long day. I'm sore. This week's second chapter may be posted on Friday instead of Thursday.  
**

* * *

Chapter 14: The Triwizard Tournament

Late into the night of the thirty first of August/early into the morning of the first of September, Harry paced back and forth in one of his rooms, mentally going over his packed bags. He was doing this because, while he rarely lacked for things to do, most of his belongings were stored away. It hadn't helped matters that pertained to his boredom that since he had started working with his aspects, and taking the concept further by combining it with his attempts to multitask, the amount of sleep he needed had dropped beneath had dropped to under an hour and a quarter while he had also starting going through things much more quickly.

Back to packing, Harry grinned at how much he was able to bring with him. Everyone who knew a little about expanded knew that, for the most part, you could not store an expanded space within an expanded space. There were exceptions for everything, but the amount of work required made Harry loath to put the effort forth... For one simple reason: Space expanded trucks can be shrunk at a ratio of thirty-six to one without any ill effects.

Granted there were a few materials (consisting mostly of a plant and animal products) that did not travel well that way... and most British wizards were happy to remain ignorant of the fact that muggles could ship anything around the world in a really short amount of time.

Idiots the lot of them.

'Multi-compartment, space expanded trunk with school and linking books, journals, clothing both mundane and magical, and sundry supplies. Check. Multitude of shrunken space expanded trunks stored in a perfectly normal box the size of a _The Lord of the Rings_ omnibus, containing my ever-growing collection of... stuff. Check. Sanity... Haven't seen it for more than a decade.'

He laughed ruefully at his own wisecrack, wondering at how he had so easily accepted being a broken shadow of a human being. Granted it wasn't so bad that he couldn't enjoy life, but he sometimes, albeit rarely, mourned the fact that he could never be normal.

He took a seat in one of the more comfortable chairs in his room, and dropped himself into the fortress that was his mind.

A few days ago, he had... moved... what he considered the absolute center of his mind. Now instead of the library, which was connected with this new area by a spiral staircase, both of which he had started to booby-trap, he was somewhere that was a cross between a throne room and council chamber. It was a circular room with large number of lecterns lining the gray stone walls, the books on the lecterns having titles such as 'Transfiguration', 'Physics', and 'Psychology', to name only a few. A few feet away from the walls were three seats which could more accurately be defined as thrones. One was a rather plain seat of a dark stone, another looked to be made of animal bones and furs, and the last was an ethereal construct of fume and vapor.

The latter two thrones were occupied. Upon the Bone Throne sat the Harry who had been imbued with his instinctual self, who had for the sake of ease of reference Harry had named Fang, and he had also been made into a repository for his knowledge of human and animal biology (both magical and mundane) alongside everything he knew about both the Animagus transformation and his Metamorphmagus abilities. He was no longer dressed identically to Harry Prime, instead he wore a pair of forest camouflage cargo pants, a black t-shirt, and a red dragonleather trenchcoat with matching boots, while abstaining from the glasses Harry usually wore. He was sitting with his back against one armrest of the throne with his legs over the other, reading a book. Why that the book was the Magical Creatures and Beings allbook (that being the term he had come up with for the tomes that served as one of the primary containers for all his knowledge as divided into different areas of study) was a bit odd, but Harry shrugged it off. The manifestation of Harry's subconscious (who had been filled with all of Harry's knowledge of the Mind Arts, psychology, and history, and had been named Morpheus) sat upon the Ethereal Throne, he was dressed in a set of soft looking silver robes and had ditched the glasses like Fang, and was playing with a Rubik's Cube.

The Alchemy allbook flew from its lectern and into Harry's hand as he set himself down onto the third throne, which had changed itself into a comfy looking recliner moments before his backside hit it. He idly flipped a few pages as a mnemonic to immerse himself into the knowledge the tome contained.

After a few moments, he said, "So, Fang, do we go back to the meditative exercises to find out what our Animagus form is, or do we go to the next step and start brewing one of the potions that gives the vision of it?"

Fang and Morpheus shared a silent conversation for a few minutes while Harry kept flipping through the Alchemy book, until Morpheus broke the silence by saying, "We feel that using one of the mid-strength hallucinogenic form revealing potions would be the most efficient."

Fang went on to explain, "What most of the meditation methods do to get you conscious mind to discover one's form is to use the subconscious as a lens for one's instincts, and we're coming to a fairly conclusive agreement that nothing is going to happen from meditation. The potion is one last push in an attempt to get an inner animal to form, but if that doesn't work, we'll likely have to give up. The particular series of potions we're thinking of using have very few risks, are reasonably easy to brew, and any one of them could be ready before the end of the calender year."

"I'll need to figure out which one to make... Do you think we should create an aspect for potions knowledge?"

Morpheus's forehead furrowed in concentration, and he looked at Fang who had a wiseass grin on his face, and said, "Potions should be last. It would be best paired with chemistry, alchemy, and the more... energetic uses of physics, and I want more of us in here before we give our inner pyro a body."

Fang cackled and said, "I say, with the Tri-Wizard on the horizon, we manifest our inner badass. We give him all our combat magics, defensive and offensive ranging from the nuisance crap like the tickling charm to our lethal very lethal high power piercers. Then we load him with what we know of martial arts, weapons combat, and tactics."

Harry nodded, and went back to his 'reading'.

Sometime later (time being extremely relative in a mindscape), Harry grunted in frustration and tossed the book into the air away from him, where dissolved before it hit the ground, only to reappear on its lectern. He growled in vexation while running a hand through his hair.

"I still need to run so many little proof of concept experiments before I start working on some of the more useful material modifications I want to get to, and I still have no bloody clue exactly when the Triwizard Tournament is starting."

Morpheus shruged and simply said, "What comes will come when it will. Do as we always do and roll with the blows. Though what I am really worried about is what Dumbledore is going to try."

Fang growled while speaking, "I'm just glad that after Grindelwald was brought down the Yanks ignored the old man and executed his lieutenants, otherwise there would be more reasons we could not deal with him."

Harry cursed under his breath, but then said, "I agree with you. I would be worried if the only thing keeping a group of Dark Lords in their individual spheres of influence was a meddlesome old man with a god complex."

Morpheus sighed, and tried to put everything in perspective,"Could be worse, Dumbledore could actually be acting with malicious intent instead of being extremely misguided and controlling."

* * *

At breakfast before leaving for platform 9 and ¾, Harry voiced a concern that had been rattling around in his head since he had heard that Hogwarts was undergoing renovations for the upcoming event.

"Padfoot, Moony, with whatever is has or is going to happen to the castle, what is going to happen with the Marauder's Map?"

Sirius's face scrunched up in thought and then he said, "I have a few vague notions, but Remus was the one who did the bulk of the spell work on the map, James and I did most of the legwork of actually exploring."

Lupin nodded, and said, "The very last version of the Map was made to take readings from the wards of Hogwarts. Everything it did, it got the raw information from my map of the wards."

"Doesn't that mean you had to get access to the central wardstone?"

"Yes, but if you are a student, and you look hard enough, it is not that hard to find or gain access to. I had already mapped the majority of the wards, with few dozen feet of notes that made next to no sense. I already knew where the rest of the wardstones were, and that let me figure out the few places where the central stone could be given the shape and strength of the wards. Just getting some readings off of it let me finish my ward diagram. But, I digress, the Map, if it is one of the four copies of the final version, it should be self updating."

"Okay, but how can I tell whether or not it is a final version?"

"What level of commands have you been using?"

Harry sat there in puzzled silence.

"You have been using some of the commands, haven't you?"

The-Boy-Who-Was-Confused nodded.

Remus closed his eyes for a minute, obviously thinking, and then said, "Tell me how you got your hands on the Map you use..."

As Harry told the tale of how he had first started sharing the map with Fred and George, Sirius let off a quick, surreptitious summoning charm. As Harry finished his story, a bit of parchment came zooming into the room. Sirius snatched it out of the air and tossed it at his godson as Remus explained how to query a Map for its version.

Sirius then finished, "Though I am fairly certain that we made sure to destroy all the previous versions, so there may not be any of the old ones hanging about, but just in case, this is my copy of the final Map. That way, if the one you do have is a final, you don't have to share anymore."

* * *

As always, Harry had arrived at the platform about an hour early, and claimed the last compartment in the last car. He had been killing time by running theories and calculations on how to make bigger booms. Leon and Cheshire were the size of smallish house cats, Isis was draped around Harry's neck, and Hedwig was perched up in the luggage rack.

Eventually Hermione eventually walked in as Harry muttered to himself, "Bloody hell."

She responded, almost automatically, "Harry, language!"

He muttered a quick, "Hello, sorry," and started murmuring under his breath, flipping through the pages of the journal he had been making notes in. Hermione eyed him before taking a seat and pulling out a thick book, and began her own reading. Fifteen minutes later, Neville came in, "Hi, Hermione, Harry", and pulled out a Herbology magazine of his own to read. Luna was the last to arrive and beamed a smile at everyone before sitting down to read the latest issue of the Quibbler.

A few minutes before the train was to leave, the twins popped in and said, "Hello, pride of the fourth and third years of the House of Lions," George started while snickering at his own joke, "We're just making sure you three haven't been found by trouble yet, if you need any help, track us down," Fred finished as he shook his head at his brother's pun, before they went off to do whatever it was they did on the train. No one who knew them ever really wanted to know, but Harry had always assumed that they pranked all of the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl. But that was just his guess.

A half an hour into the train ride, Harry started cursing in Russian. He grabbed his wand and conjured a steel bucket at his feet. Having drawn the attention of Hermione and Neville, they watched as he started ripping pages from the journal he was reading, tossing the papers into the bucket.

Hermione, having never seen Harry destroy his notes, asked, "What are you doing?"

"Too big of a boom. Taking it to the grave with me."

Hermione blinked several times while Neville said, "Blasphemy! There is no such thing as too big of a boom."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Neville, before she said, "Harry, I've never seen you actually destroy your notes..."

"Doesn't mean I haven't. I've had a few rune arrays that I have obliterated from my notes. At one point as I was trying to make something to store large amounts of light and heat, I saw a line of reasoning that brought me to an array that would, if my theory was correct, drain the life force of anyone who walked into a certain area. And that is just one example. I occasionally scare myself, and my answer to doing that is usually to lock away what scared me in some of the deeper corners of my mind. I've occasionally considered destroying the memories."

Hermione frowned and replied, "If some of the ideas scare you that badly, why don't you?"

"Because of a man who styles himself 'Lord Flight-from-Death'."

A puzzled look crosses Hermione's face, and one of outright confusion was on Neville's.

Harry sighed and palmed his forehead, "A Dark Lord who most of Magical Britain refuses to speak the name of and whose name can translate very poorly into that phrase if translated from French to English."

Both of them had the most amusing looks of realization on their faces that Harry was hard pressed to bite back a laugh.

"Anyway, how was the rest of your summers? Letters are nice, but some things can only be conveyed face to face."

They about what they had done for the summer, with Harry's part of the conversation revolved around the house guests and the World Cup, with an explanation of how Cheshire had reared his head and then said next to nothing. Neville had spent more time in his greenhouses and Hermione had spent that part of the summer as she usually did, getting caught up on where she would be if she had continued her mundane education.

Eventually Neville asked, a clear attempt at a joke, "But I have been wondering just what life-threatening situation is going to be set loose in the school this year."

But it did not have the humorous effect he was looking for, because instead Harry paled and stilled.

Neville, cursed under his breath in English, to which Hermione responded "Neville, language!", and he said, "What do you know Harry?"

"Ever heard of the Triwizard Tournament?"

* * *

Dumbledore paced in his office, waiting for the Express to arrive. He had worked hard at getting the Tri-Wizard re-instated. He had managed to get some of his ideas for tasks put in. With Voldemort rearing his head again, international cooperation was vitally important, and hopefully this would be a wonderful beginning.

As for the perpetual issue of the Defense post, he had managed to get Alastor Moody to promise to curb his more manic traits, and Minerva and the portraits of the Founders had accepted the man to the position.

There was of course the ever present issue that Harry had long been out of his influence and showed no signs of returning. There was little he could do to remedy this, but what he saw of the boy warmed his old heart. Maybe he would do what was needed without what the old man had believed were necessary manipulations. Even harmed as he was by his... relations... he still had a heart of gold.

He believed it was such a pity that such a bright young life would have to end for Tom to be destroyed

* * *

Severus Snape paced about his dungeon office, deep in thought. Ever since three years ago when his teaching methods (he conceded the point by now that calling is prior methods 'teaching' was generous at best and would be considered an outright lie by any normal person) were forcibly altered, the dunderheads who attended his classes were not quite as stupid as he thought they were. Considering that he had deviated greatly from how he had learned potions under Horace Slughorn, he was actually surprised there weren't more explosions in the potions lab.

So, after three years of a student body that actually improved their potion-making abilities, Snape had to admit (if only to himself) if given the choice he would continue teaching the way he had been forced to.

But that was only part of what was causing him to pace. What he was thinking most on was that he was not entirely sure on how to address the boy. If he called him Potter that reminded him of exactly who his father was, but aside from formerly looking like the man in miniature, the boy had little in common with the man that Severus despised the memory of. The only subject that Severus believed he had been any good at was Transfiguration, which the boy admittedly had a talent at.

Everything else about him reminded him of Lily. From the way he held himself, to how good he was at his studies. Then there was the issue that he had his mother's eyes, and the fact that he used his metamorphmagus abilities to look _less_ like his father and more like his mother.

Of course there was the issue of the pranks the he had pulled on the school. None of them were as truly malicious as some of the things his father and his cronies did were, and he never singled out any one person, though he had at times focused on his Slytherins. But he had to admit that no matter what he had done as the Head of House the more visible members of his once great House continued to act like gits rather than proper witches and wizards, and so while not excusable the boy's predisposition to pranking his Snakes en masse once or twice a year was understandable, if distasteful.

Moreover, he had to admit that the theme song that the boy had jokingly given him was quite nice, once he finally looked up the last of those movies. The man most accompanied by the song had redeemed himself in the end.

So as Snape left his office to get to the feast, he hummed the opening bars of 'The Imperial March'.

* * *

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, in between his two best friends, idly twiddling his thumbs waiting for the feast to get started. As they had taken the carriages up to the castle, through a storm that made him glad that this wasn't his first year, he hadn't noticed any differences on the exterior, and as the Entrance and Great Halls were one after the other upon entering the castle, Harry had yet to notice any changes at all in the school. Hermione and Neville had agreed with his belief that somehow, someway, his name was going be chosen as one the champions, and that it would probably be easier on his tentative hold of his sanity if he just resigned himself to the fact.

He watched as McGonagall led the new first years into the hall, and set Alistair onto his stool. One of the first years bore a resemblance to an annoyance a year younger than him. Creevy. Bugger all. There was another Creevey in the school... Hopefully Colin could keep his relative (a brother most likely, though also possibly a cousin) out of Harry's hair unless he needed help with his classwork... which if things went as pear-shaped as Harry thought they would this year, his helping of the years below him would be far less frequent. Which was mildly upsetting, he enjoyed working with the midgets. His lips the twitched into a semi-grin as the first years had various awed looks as the hat started to sing.

_A thousand years or more ago  
when I was newly sewn,  
there lived four wizards of renown,  
whose names are still well known:  
bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,  
fair Ravenclaw, from glen,  
sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,  
shrewd Slytherin, from fen.  
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,  
they hatched a daring plan  
to educate young sorcerers  
thus Hogwarts School began.  
Now each of these four founders  
formed their own house, for each  
did value different virtues  
in the ones they had to teach.  
By Gryffindor, the bravest were  
Prized far beyond the rest;  
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest  
would always be the best;  
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were  
Most worthy of admission;  
And power-hungry Slytherin  
loved those of great ambition.  
While still alive they did divide  
Their favorites from the throng,  
Yet how to pick the worthy ones  
When they were dead and gone?_

'Twas Gryffindor who found the way,  
He whipped me off his head  
The founders put some brains in me  
So I could choose instead!  
Now slip me snug about your ears,  
I've never yet been wrong,  
I'll have a look inside your mind  
And tell where you belong!

Harry applauded along with the rest of the school as the song ended and, as per usual, made sure to commit the names and faces of those being sorted to memory. Part of him just found it highly amusing when people were so surprised that he could greet anyone in the castle his year or younger by name.

Which, now that he thought about it, as a fourth year, that represented over half of the student body. Now that was something of an accomplishment. Harry idly watched as the last of the new students was sorted, and Dumbledore began the feast in his usual unusual form ("Tuck in." Harry shook his head, couldn't the man decide whether or not that he was sane?) and conversation started all around the hall. Harry picked at his food, as per usual

Hermione was chatting with her one dorm-mate that she actually saw eye to eye with (she called Parvati and Lavender gigglish and condemned their interest in Divination even though it was no longer on the Hogwarts curriculum) Sally-Anne Perks. Neville was chatting with the other two fourth year Gryffindor boys, Seamus and Dean.

There was no one new up at the Staff table, so Harry couldn't help but wonder who was going to teach the Defense class. He was really starting to wonder whether or not that particular job was cursed or not.

Of course, this all went south when Hermione had heard that Hogwarts kept house-elves. Harry wondered how much detention he would get if he sent Nearly-Headless Nick onto the afterlife. After five minutes of ranting, in addition to (however infrequent) comments about the Manor having elves, Harry had had enough.

"Hermione, do you know what happens to house-elves when they are not bound to a family?"

"Yes, they are free to do what ever they wish with their lives."

"Wrong. They slowly go insane and then die."

She just stared at him for a minute as though, and then said, "Well that is just what people who enslave..."

Harry grunted, pulled his wand, and put up privacy spells encompassing the two of them, "Hermione. Not only is it well documented, but I know firsthand from my Mage Sense that house-elves produce no magic of their own. They draw if from the home they live in and the family they serve."

Hermione's eyes watered as she was told this. She knew that slavery was wrong... but this was a choice between freedom and death or servitude and life.

Harry sighed and said, "You have to understand Hermione, part of the adaptations house-elves have made is that when they are obeying orders their magic rewards them with feelings of pleasure. There is also the fact that it is only among traditionally Dark families that house-elves are even mistreated. In most other cases they are treated as either how well-to-do mundanes would treat the help or, in the best cases, as a member of the family."

Hermione looked down at the table in a combination of consternation and shame. "I just wanted to help..."

"I know Hermione. Quite frankly there should be some safeguards in place to protect him. We got Dobby when Sirius pauperized the Malfoys and he was in terrible shape. Don't think I don't know how bad they can have it. Hell, comparing notes with Dobby, I don't know which of us had the worst decade from '81 to '91, me or him."

Finally most of the school had stuffed itself to bursting, and the Headmaster stood to make his beginning of the year speech, "Yes, yes, to our new students welcome and our hold hands, welcome back. Mr. Filch has added approximately one dozen new objects to his list of proscribed items, the full of which is available for perusal in his office," Harry had actually read it once in second year out of boredom, and had wondered what rubber duckies had ever done to the man, "the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students, as is the village Hogsmeade, though it is open for students third year and over on specific weekends. Unfortunately I also bare the news that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year."

This statement caused a general uproar among school population, many of whom were quite fond of their Quidditch. Dumbledore however ignored this and pressed on.

"This is due to an event that will be taking up a great deal of the faculty's time and energy. It is with that said, I am pleased to announce..."

The old man didn't quite manage to finish his announcement as at this point the doors to the Entrance Hall were flung open and a man leaning on a traveling staff, covered by black traveling cloak made his way into the Great Hall. Every other step he made was accompanied by a load _thunk_ that Harry attributed to a prosthetic leg of some kind, a peg leg if the wizarding world reverted to form. As he drew back the hood of his cloak, it was seen that his face was a patchwork of scars, with a large chunk of his nose missing. One of his eyes was whirling around, and Harry recognized it as one of the more expensive magical replacements for a lost eye, while the man's hair was grizzled and dark.

Dumbledore soon recovered from the interruption and said, "Ah, I would like to introduce all of you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Alastor Moody."

The Hall dissolved into chattering whispers as everyone discussed the fact that one of the more famous (and paranoid) surviving Aurors of the War was teaching at Hogwarts. After a minute a two, the Headmaster brought things back on track.

"As I was saying. It is my pleasure to announce that the Tri-Wizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year. For those of you who are not aware of the history involved in this event, I will give a short explanation, for those that do, please allow your attention to wander.

"The Tournament was first established about seven hundred years ago as a means of promoting friendly competition between the top three European schools of magic. A champion is selected to represent each of the schools, and these champions then compete in a number of tasks. Traditionally there are three, but those running the event this time, of whom I am proudly one, believe that with its resurrection a larger spectacle should be made, and the tasks have been upped from three to seven. The Tournament was initially discontinued due to a rising death toll, and attempts have been made over the centuries at bring it back with similar results, and out Ministry's Departments of International Cooperation and Games and Sports believe the time is ripe for another try.

"Those involved have done their best to assure that none of the champions will find themselves in mortal danger, and further more, to insure that each of the champions are well equipped to deal with any danger there may be, no one who is under age, that is to say younger than seventeen, may submit themselves for consideration as champion.

"Both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with the majority of their student bodies next Saturday, when names will then begin to be taken from those who wish to participate. Hogwarts has just undergone its once a century maintenance, and the East and West wings have been enlarged to ensure that they will be able to sufficiently accommodate our guests. I ask that the student body treats our foreign guests with proper courtesy and for Hogwarts to support our champion when he or she is selected, whomever he or she may be. Now, it is time for all of us to get some sleep, so off you go to your warm beds."

* * *

The weekend was longer than normal (and Harry took the chance to get started on the potion he wanted done by Christmas), due to the first being on a Thursday, most teachers giving up attempts to teach on Friday due to the excitement that the news of the Tournament had brought, but Monday quickly followed and Gryffindor, or at least those in fourth year that had taken Care of Magical Creatures as an elective, spent the morning outdoors. First Herbology, where they squeezed bubotubers for pus (which when diluted apparently was a good acne cure) and Harry learned that someone had tried to curse her pimples off, which Professor Sprout actually confirmed.

Harry shook his head. Nothing is ever solved by firing spells at point blank range at your own face. Firing a spell into another person's face at point blank range is a perfectly good solution to many problems, but doing it to the pimples on your own face? He shuddered at the lack of thought involved in pulling something like that.

Then they were introduced to Hagrid's newest pets at Care of Magical Creatures, the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry kept quiet about his concerns that someone had broken a number of international magical animal crossbreeding laws when these, things, were brought into existence. And he sure as hell didn't mention that he thought Professor Grubbly-Plank had lost her mind by allowing Hagrid a chance to teach the class. They were ugly, their magics convoluted and muddled, and they were extremely ill-tempered. And they weren't even all that old yet.

Harry paled as Hagrid said, "I was thinking that maybe we should make the raising of these beauts a year long project."

Malfoy then had to prove Harry's belief that he was gaining some common sense in the worst way possible and said, "Well, I see why we're trying to keep these monsters alive. What great fun is a pet that can sting, burn, and Merlin knows what else all at the same time?"

Harry recognized a conflicted look on Hermione's face as she came to defend Hagrid by saying, "You wouldn't want a pet dragon either, but look at how amazingly useful its blood is, not to mention a host of other products!"

As the Gryffindors made their way back inside for lunch, and Hermione huffed at Neville when he said, "At least they are tiny."

Harry shook his head and replied before Hermione could, "Right now. They could easily grow to be bigger than Fluffy is."

Neville blinked and said, "What does that matter if they have some amazing use?"

Hermione sighed and said, "I was just getting Malfoy to shut up and go away. I think the best thing for the Skrewts would be for them to all be destroyed before someone gets badly hurt."

Harry was already planning his first deliberate rule breaking of the year, long before Hermione had made that comment. Tonight after curfew he was sneaking out here and killing every last single Blast-Ended Skrewt he could set his wand on. Hopefully his Runes class this afternoon would make up for this dismal Care of Magical Creatures, and the acts he would have to commit tonight.

* * *

As Harry and his friends queued up to get into the Great Hall for dinner, they saw Malfoy and Ronald having some sort of argument. It wasn't too surprising, after all it was a week that started on an odd numbered day.

But what was surprising was that when Ronald stalked off in his usual angry huff and when Malfoy aimed his standard nuisance of a spell at the Weasley's retreating back, there was a yell of, "Oh, no you don't laddie!", followed by an extremely loud bang. And as Moody came limping into view, Harry saw that there was a pure white ferret where Malfoy was standing.

He had no clue what happened in the next five minutes, as he was far too busy laughing himself hoarse from the fact that someone besides himself thought that Malfoy would make a pretty decent ferret.

* * *

Of course the next day, when Hagrid sent him a tear stained letter mourning the fate of his precious new pets, all of which had been horrifically killed during the night, the half-giant asked Harry and his friends down for tea so that he could have someone to speak to. Of course Harry went to see the man when he had some free time, even if he was the one that murdered his beloved pets. He had known how Hagrid would react, and had figured that as one of Hagrid's favorite people at the castle, that he would seek out Harry. Besides, he knew he would feel a little sorry about how Hagrid would feel about losing some of his pets, even if Harry felt no guilt whatsoever about exterminating the beasts.

Of course, the easiest way to distract Hagrid from anything is to show the man something rare and deadly, which is why, after a half an hour of listening to Hagrid wail about how the Skrewts were 'far too young to go', he hauled Cheshire in from outside the hut, and left the smart aleck lion to be cooed over by the half-giant.

As Cheshire gave his wizard a dirty look as Harry walked out of the hut, and surprisingly said something...

*I am going to get you for this Harry...*

*Would you settle for a swordfish?*

*Do you bribe all of you familiars to do what you want them to do?*

*Yup.*

There was a moment of silence before Harry heard, *You have a deal.*

* * *

The next day or two after that passed without incident, except there was a general consensus among the population of the castle that there was an improvement in the quality of Snape's teaching. This was generally left unsaid by the Gryffindors, though Hermione did mention it in passing to Harry that she had talked about it with a few of the girls she was friendly with in Ravenclaw. Harry had had a chat with a few of the Hufflepuffs he spent time with about it.

But then came the class that everyone who had already taken it raved about, and those that had heard even one story about the legendary Master Auror waited for.

Defense Against the Dark Arts.

As everyone chattered, waiting for the man of the hour to show up, Harry thought back to what his magical senses told him about the man. All of nothing, at least directly. He had layered himself in so much protective and concealing magic that nothing about him could be felt, and without the glasses that blocked his Mage Sight, the air around the man made it difficult to see him.

And what that told him is that Mad-Eye Moody was paranoid to the point of insanity, which was to be expected. Aurors don't have careers in the field, especially during a war, that last until forced retirement, unless they have a good deal of power, a great deal of skill, and enough paranoia to make conspiracy theorists jealous.

And then the man slumped into the room, his eye whirling about.

"Put those books away, you won't need them today. I've a letter from Professor Black, who has relayed to me what he and your previous teachers have taught you. I've notice that you are dangerously behind on curses. I intend to rectify that in the year I will be teaching."

Neville interrupted with, "You're not staying?"

The old man turned to face Neville, and his face twisted into something that on any other person would be a smile, and said, "You're Frank and Alice's kid, aren't you?" Neville nodded, and Moody continued, "No laddie. I've come out of retirement for just one year, as a favor to an old friend. Then I am going back to the peace and quiet."

He turned back to the class and asked, "Now, the Ministry says I am supposed to just teach you the counters for the most commonly used Dark curses and leave it at that. They think you all are too fragile to see the curses themselves until you are NEWTs level. But it is my firm belief that you need to know exactly what you are up against in order to combat it. So, that being said, what are the most heavily punished curses in Wizarding Britain?"

Hermione's of course was the first hand up, though there were a few others. Moody eventually called on Seamus.

"Um... there are always complaints from my mum about how some many Death Eaters got off by claiming the Imperius."

"Correct laddie. The Imperius curse gave the Ministry a lot of problems during the war, and even more after it."

At this, he pulled a jar with three spiders inside it out from within his desk, and pulled one out. He held it in the palm of his hand so that the class could see it, before he muttered, "Imperio!"

He then made the spider do a minute of two of acrobatics before it broke into a tap dance. The entire classroom broke into laughter, all save Moody and Harry.

"You lot think that this is hilarious? How about I do that to you?"

The laughter died as quickly as it had begun.

"I could make this spider do anything I wanted it to do. Total control over the target is what this curse gives its caster. And Mr. Finnigan's mum is correct in that a lot of suspected Death Eaters claimed Imperius to get out of time in Azkaban. But it can be fought, though it takes real strength of character and will. Best just to get out of the way. CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Now, anyone else know one?"

This time Neville was among those who raised their hands, Hermione's hand being up was a given however. Now Neville was not as shy and withdrawn as he might have been, but right now he was rather pale as he waited to see who Moody would call upon.

"Longbottom?"

"The Cruciatus Curse."

Moody simply nodded, and fished the next spider out of the jar. He enlarged the spider, to apparently make whatever point the next curse was going to deliver clearer, before he softly incanted, "Crucio!"

The spider writhed in what was obviously a great deal of pain, as what looked like a small lightening bolt of orange energy connected it and Moody's wand, but Harry was too busy watching Neville who was gripping his desk with white knuckles...

Harry coughed and said, delicately, "I think we all understand why this curse is such bad news, sir."

Moody took a glance at Neville and ceased the curse. He returned the spider to its normal size before turning to address the class.

"Pain. You do not need any other implements to torture someone if you can cast this spell... Now there is one more spell that ranks up with the first two in terms of how badly it is punished. Anyone know what it is?"

The entirety of the class were paler than normal, wondering what would be as bad as the other two. Hermione was the only one to raise a hand this time and it was shaking this time, but not in excitement as is so often the case, but rather in fear. Harry took off his glasses and extended his senses to take in the entirety of the classroom, knowing what would come next.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse."

"Correct. The last and by many considered the worst." Harry snorted at the mention of that.

The man dumped the last spider out onto the desk, and it immediately took off, like it somehow knew what was coming next. Moody leveled his wand, and rather than softly casting the spell as with the last two, he roared out, "Avada Kedavra!"

A blast of sickly green energy leaped from the ex-Auror's wand and closed the distance to the spider in frightening speed. When it hit, the spider just stopped moving under its own power, dying instantly as its body skidded to a halt due to inertia.

Harry took in what the spell looked like, on both the mundane and magical sensory levels, especially how the magic of it felt. He pushed the thoughts of this happening to his parents down. He kept those memories locked away, though he idly noted that he didn't include any storage for memories relating to people in the new center of his mindscape, and reminded himself to fix that sooner rather than later.

Moody broke the oppressive silence by saying, "Neither nice nor pretty. There is no countercurse or a shield that is capable of blocking it. It needs a powerful bit of magic behind it, along with a great deal of hate, in order to cast it. I am willing to bet the lot of you could point your wands at me and try to cast the spell, and I wouldn't even get a nosebleed. Doesn't matter though, I am not trying to teach this spell to you. But you are probably asking why I am telling and showing you this if there isn't a countercurse or shield to learn? It is because I believe you need to know. You have to realize what the absolute worst is. CONSTANT VIGIALANCE!

"Now, these three curses are collectively known as the Unforgivable Curses, and the use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to net you a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. That is what you will have to fight, and that is what I'll teach you. But you must learn to practice constant, never-ending vigilance. Now get out your quills and paper and copy the following down..."

They finish the lesson by taking notes on each of the Unforgivables, but no one spoke until the bell rang. As the Lions left the class room, they broke into excited chatter, but Harry kept a close eye on Neville. He was still a little pale, and Harry was just about to say something before Moody said, "Longbottom, I'd like a word with you in my office."

Harry raised a brow and sent his friend a questioning look, who shook his head and said, "I'll catch up with you at lunch Harry."

As the hallway emptied, and Harry took one of the more roundabout ways to the Great Hall, he held one of his hands out in front of him. It was shaking rather badly.

* * *

The days passed until Saturday came, and the impending arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. The entire population of the school had been ordered to be in the Entrance Hall by half past five so that they could all be out in front of the castle for when the other two schools would arrive at six.

After lunch, the Great Hall was sealed, and no one would be allowed in until the feast that evening with the other schools. Harry had to spend most of his day with his potion, it having been seven days and seven hours since he had started the brewing, and there were a series of crucial steps that took place at this juncture, so thankfully he didn't have to use any of the rather potent stasis charms to move the window he had to do the work on it.

Finished, and with potion set to stew for three months and three days, and a stirring rod that had been charmed to stir counter-clockwise seven times every twelve hours, he went to go clean up.

* * *

Professor McGonagall had arranged the students on the steps leading up to the doors, with first years on the lowest steps, and the students getting older as the steps went higher. It also meant that you could generally see over the row in front of you.

Everyone was chatting, killing time waiting for the competing schools to arrive when one of the first years pointed to a speck in the sky and promptly screamed in terror, obviously losing her head completely, yelling, "Look, its' a dragon!"

Dennis Creevey scoffed and said, "Don't be stupid, it's a flying house."

As the object closed in, it became obvious that, though closer in his guess, Dennis was still quite wrong. In reality it was a trio of powder blue very large carriages being drawn by massive flying horses that were golden in color.

Harry blinked several times before recognizing the breed as Abraxans, shortly before the train of carriages rolled to a stop a short ways from the students. The door was flung open, and a boy in pale blue robes hopped out. He reached under the carriage and drew a set of golden steps out from under the door. He stepped back respectfully as a women, one of the largest that anyone present had ever or would ever see, came out of the carriage.

The size of both the vehicle and the horses that carried it, made some sense to most of the students. Except for those who, like Harry, had made studies in space expansion and weight reduction. In Harry's own estimation, the carriages probably weighed only slightly more than they appeared to without much alteration, and even then the weight could be further reduced during flight.

As the half-giantess stepped onto the ground, the boy went to the next carriage, lowered its steps, and opened the door. He then did the same for the last of the three carriages. As the students of Beauxbatons filed out of their transportation, Dumbledore started to clap, which lead to a round of applause from the entire student body.

The woman stepped over to the Headmaster and held out her hand. The old man barely had to bend in order to kiss the back of it.

"Greetings Madame Maxime and welcome to Hogwarts."

"It is a pleasure Dumbly-dorr, I hope you are well..."

"I am in quite good form, thank you."

She gestured behind her rather carelessly, and said, "My students and staff..."

The majority of the Beauxbatons students had disembarked, and Harry thought that they were probably grateful that it was still September and not later in the year, as their robes were made out of fine silk, as were many of the robes that the accompanying staff were wearing.

But as Harry was about to turn his attention back to the school Heads, he felt a pulse of magic from the lake. He whipped his head to stare intently at the water, and those who knew him and knew some of what he was capable of, turned their attention to the lake.

Harry was vaguely aware of the the Beauxbatons students, their staff, and Headmistress heading into the school. He soon hear a muffled rumbling, accompanied by the sound of suction. Eventually Lee Jordan yelled out, while pointing at the object of his exclamation, "The lake!"

They watched as a whirlpool formed out in the waters of the Black Lake, and eventually something was seen to begin rising from the watery depths. It was the first and tallest of four masts. When the ship was finally in full view, it became apparent that it was a rather large ship. As it reached as close to shore as it would likely get, a pair of gangplanks, almost impossibly long, extended from the ship to the shore. People began disembarking, and from this distance it looked like they were all built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle, though as they drew closer, it became apparent that they were just wearing thick fur cloaks that looked shaggy and matted. The man leading the procession had silver hair, and was wearing sleek furs that matched his hair.

He greeted Dumbledore in an unctuous, fruity voice, "Ah, Dumbledore, my good fellow, how have you been?"

"Just smashing, Professor Karkaroff, and you?"

"Fantastic, just fantastic. Dear old Hogwarts," Karkaroff said as he smiled, though his teeth were yellow and the smile was only apparent around his mouth. "It is great to be here... Viktor come along now, let us get into the warmth... Viktor has a bit of a head cold..."

Karkaroff gestured for one of his students to come forward, and Harry saw someone he recognized, who was looking even more surly than when Harry had encountered him at the World Cup. Of course, he was dragging his brother forward by the scruff of his neck. Apparently he had no desire to go through this alone.

A few voices in the crowd muttered as they recognized the world class Seeker, Viktor Krum. And Harry heard a good many people wonder if they could get an autograph.

* * *

Dumbledore lead the three schools into the Great Hall, throwing the large doors open with a gesture of his wand. The room was easily triple the size it had been during lunch, though the enchanted section of the ceiling as still the same size as always, just now in the middle of the much larger room. There were thirteen tables in the room, one ran along the back of the hall, on a raised dais, with all of the seats facing into the room, obviously the staff table. The other twelve were scattered about.

Dumbledore turned around and faced the mass of students and said, "Sit where you will, we will not be dining by House or school, so do try to make friends."

As the throng started to file into the Hall, a hand clapped Harry heavily on the shoulder, and a voice, with a moderately thick Bulgarian accent said in English, "Ah, Harry. I knew I smelled you around here somewhere. I have some friends I want to introduce you to..."

Harry then interrupted Ivan by saying, while he turned around, "You mean you have some more bets to win?"

"Yes that too. But they deserve it for not believing me."

* * *

Five minutes later, and about twenty galleons for Ivan, the pair found themselves sitting at a table with a few Hufflepuffs, a handful of Ivan's friends, and a few Lions. Harry felt someone... familiar... nearby with his Sense. Shaking his head, he grinned and without he turning around said to a familiar looking blonde, "Good evening Fleur."

She jumped, ever so slightly, let out a rather quiet, "Eep!" and turned around to see Harry's back was still to her.

"You know, it is really disturbing to do something like that!"

"But it is so fun, and considering those books that, before I sued the author into a goblin execution, were out there, it is what many people would assume The-Boy-Who-Lived would be capable of."

"I believe you have mentioned how much you dislike those expectations..."

"True, but my father was a prankster, so I get their hopes up... And then I act like the atypical person that I am. It is so very amusing to see the looks on their faces."

"You are quite incorrigible, Harry..."

The meal that followed was louder than usual, and there were foods from France and the countries that Durmstrang represented. Harry watched with amusement as Fleur's allure sent many of the males with twenty feet of her into a dazed state. He also saw a few representatives from the Ministry at the Head table, not the least of all, the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge.

Eventually the meal was brought to a close, and Dumbledore stood up, and began to speak.

"The time has come. The Tri-Wizard Tournament is about to begin. Before we bring in the casket," there were a few muttered wonderings at the use of this particular word, "I would like to take a moment to make a few explanations about the procedures that the Tournament will be following this year. Though I think a few introductions are in order first. For those of you among us who do not know them, these two gentlemen are Mr. Bartemius Crouch Sr., Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," there was weak applause with this introduction as the man rose and gave a short nod, "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." The applause was much louder for the former Beater, who stood and gave a grand bow before waving at the crowd. "And of course who would not know our Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge," was met with more polite applause.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked many late nights with their counterparts in the other Ministries involved to organize this Tournament. And one them will be joining myself, Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff on the judges' panel for the Tournament as a representative from the British Ministry. There will also be representatives from the German and French Ministries on the panel. Now, without further ado, Mr. Filch, the casket if you please."

There were mutterings as the caretaker carried in a large wooden chest adorned with jewels. Whispers flooded the hall as a few of the shorter students stood on their chairs to get a better look. Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop into the floor when the casket entered into the room. He hated being right.

"The details for each task have already been looked over by those who have worked so hard to make this Tournament a reality, and the necessary arrangements for each has already been made for each of the seven tasks. There shall be one champion from each school, they shall be given scores according to how well they perform on each task. And the champion with the highest total by the end of the competition shall be the winner. And the champions shall be chosen by our impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

With that said, Dumbledore tapped his wand on top of the casket three times. The lid opened slowly, which Dumbledore then lifted, pulling out a large, roughly hewn wooden goblet. It would have been a perfectly normal cup if it wasn't filled to the brim with blue-white fire.

"Those who wish to be champions only need to place their name and school onto a slip of parchment and place it into the Goblet, which will be placed in Entrance Hall, then tomorrow after dinner this artifact shall determine just who the champions shall be. But to prevent those who are underage from entering themselves I shall draw an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire to prevent those below the age of seventeen from crossing.

"Now be aware that entering your name into the Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding, magical contract," Harry snorted in disbelief that the fairly well documented, at least in certain circles, history of the object was being blatantly covered up, "so you should be absolutely certain that you desire to compete.

"On a lighter note, I would like to say that three balls will be taking place this year, and all students fourth year or higher are automatically granted attendance, with those in third year being allowed to attend if they are asked to attend by an older student.

"Now I would like to bid you all good night. Durmstrang, the Head Boy shall show you where your quarters are located in the castle, Beauxbatons shall be shown the same by the Head Girl."

Harry stayed in his seat, staring in the direction of the Goblet of Fire, a sense of impending doom hanging over his head.

* * *

As the next day was Sunday, people would have tended to rise later in the day than normal, but by and large people were up bright and early. Mostly so that they could watch and see who would put their name into the Goblet. Harry, who was normally the first student awake in the castle, had conjured himself a seat bright and early.

He had a clipboard with a list of names nearby, keeping track of all the Hogwarts students that had entered... and all those who had run afoul of the Age Line. It seemed that whenever a person who wasn't old enough tried to cross it they simply were blocked. Later there were two pairs of students, the first set was a girl from Ravenclaw, and a boy from Hufflepuff. The second two were of course Fred and George Weasley. All four had apparently tried to use an aging potion to cheat the line. The result was that they did indeed get over the line, but were tossed back over it in short order.

And they gained a foot long white beard in the style of Dumbledore for their troubles.

Harry had needed the laugh that had come from that. He had gotten bored of taking names down (usually their Housemates or Yearmates would congratulate them, so even if he didn't know the name before, he did after), he went out to the grounds and decided to take a nap by the lake.

* * *

Harry had taken to the air at about midday, his nerves and boredom starting to make him extremely twitchy. Eventually it was about an hour until the evening meal began, so he went back to the tower to wash up.

Ten minutes before the feast was set to start, Fleur found Harry pacing restlessly in one of the corners of the Entrance Hall. {Harry, my friend, you need to calm down.}

{How can I be calm when that blasted magical object is sitting there like a ticking time bomb,} he ground out angrily.

{And why is this seeming to make you more of a basket case than you said you were in your second year?}

{Because at least during the damn basilisk incident, I was doing something. I may not have been making any progress but I was still doing something! Here I am just alternately twiddling my thumbs and sitting on my damn hands!}

He had not stopped his pacing for a moment during the conversation, and Fleur now stood there, one foot tapping on the floor trying to think of a way to distract a person she considered a friend, or at least something close to it.

{Ah, tell me Harry, what do you think of Mozart?}

* * *

Well he had once confessed that if he was incapable of using magic, he would not be able to make anything that would even loosely pass for art of any kind, be it picture in any medium, a sculpture, or music, he still enjoyed the arts. At least the classical ones, modern art was a mockery in his opinion. Though that didn't really carry over to music. It took until the doors to the Great Hall were opened for the feast, but Fleur had managed to drag Harry into a conversation about classical composers.

Fleur was at least glad that the subject of distraction that she chose was a topic she enjoyed.

As they took a seat at one of the tables, they were shortly joined by Neville and Hermione, and then a little while later by Ivan, and surprisingly his brother. As everyone present was a little surprised by the fact that Harry and Fleur were talking animatedly in French about something (Hermione knew what, and the topic of the conversation was what surprised her) they did not notice that Cedric Diggory and a number of other sixth year Hufflepuffs had taken a seat.

For everyone who wasn't being distracted by a beautiful blonde, the meal seemed to drag on as the population of the Hall kept throwing glances at the Goblet that was sitting on a small plinth in front of where Dumbledore sat. Eventually the meal came to an end and many present grew quiet as he rose from his seat.

Fleur, noticing that the Hall had grown quiet said, {It is time, Harry.}

{Huh? What do you... Oh...} He looked around a little dazedly, before turning back to Fleur and saying, {Thank you so very much Fleur.}

{The conversation was quiet nice, even if it only started as a distraction for you.}

Harry, to keep himself at least moderately distracted, looked at who was sitting near him. Fleur was obvious and so were his friends from his own school. Of course then there was Ivan, but that his brother had chosen to sit with them was odd. Then there was the Hufflepuffs and Cedric...

Harry grabbed his head in both hands as he felt a spike of pain at the base of his skull and vertigo overcame him. When the pain and spinning stopped, he was overlooking the Great Hall as it normally looked, though it seemed a little fuller than a normal school year. Then he saw the crimson robes of Durmstrang, the pale blue silk of Beauxbatons, and most importantly the Goblet of Fire. One by one four names were called out of the Goblet by Dumbledore, and then the whirling and pain came back.

Harry found himself back where he had begun, his head still clenched in his hands and slumped onto the table, as Dumbledore made his way to the Goblet. Everyone at the table was staring at him, but Harry simply looked at the Hufflepuff team Seeker and asked, "When is your birthday, Cedric?"

"September seventh, why?"

"Congratulations, the same goes to you, Fleur, and you, Viktor. And please don't be upset with me about the surprise tonight, I was expecting it though I had no clue how to stop it if I even could, but wasn't sure it would happen until a moment ago.."

Everyone just stared at Harry before their gaze was drawn away as Dumbledore cleared his throat quite audibly, and said to the Hall, "I believe that the Goblet of Fire is just about ready to render its decision. Those who are chosen, please go through the door behind and to the left of the Head table."

With that said, he swept his wand, and all the candles and lamps that lit the Hall dimmed until the chief source of illumination was the Goblet's blue-white flames, which moments later flared red. The cup then spit out a scrap of parchment that Dumbledore grabbed from midair.

"The champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum."

The students from that school, and a great many Quidditch fans from the other two, started cheering. Harry however started laughing, though it was not a good kind of laughter. It was intermixed with sobs, and there was a note of barely restrained madness in it. Those present who knew him looked at him with worry in their eyes.

Viktor turned to Harry with shock in his eyes before nodding and leaving.

The Goblet flared red again.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour."

The French Champion gave her friend a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and went to the door where the Champions were to enter, as he schoolmates applauded her. Harry turned his attention to Dumbledore and the Goblet, as the latter flashed into red fire for a third time.

Cedric had turned to Harry and was about to say something before Dumbledore yelled, "And the champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"

The population of the third and final school burst into applause, the Hufflepuffs loudest of all.

"Now that all of the champions have been choose, I hope that all of you can support the your school's representative. By cheering your – "

Dumbledore was cut off as the flames of the Goblet changed to red one last time. On reflex he caught the parchment that was launched from it. The entire Hall was silent as he simply stared at the piece of paper in front of him. He then said the two words that Harry had hoped he wouldn't say.

"Harry Potter."

* * *

**A/N2: Holy crap. There is a line in here that has some amazing foreshadowing for some of my plans for book 7 that I have only come up with in the past month, and the line is from the original story. If anyone can guess what line it is, they'll get a cyber cookie.  
**

**Okay, with how this is turning out, I am probably going to do a very minor rewrite to 'By Sunlight' when I get back around to working on that story. It won't be shifted to a new story because the four chapters it already has are of decent size, but it will allow me to clean it up a bit, and refresh my memory when I get back to it.**

**[Posting Time Stamp: 19 November 2012]  
**

* * *

**Legacy:  
This is what used to be chapter 37 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.  
As of 2:30 PM, 27 November, 2012 these were the statistics of that chapter of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 37:**  
**Word Count: 10,201 | Character Count: 56,114 | Hits: 43,266 | Reviews: 97**

**New Total Word Count: 11,005 | New Total Character Count: 60,437**


	15. First Motion

**Disclaimer: ********I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **  


* * *

**A/N: ****As always, my thanks goes out to those who are kind enough to review. Thank you.**  


***Slams head into desk* I keep forgetting to put this in for clarification. For those who have read The Sorting Hat's Stand, the Flamels are dying arc has been completely axed. Less melodrama that way.**

**I want to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. Gobble, gobble.  
**

* * *

Chapter 15: First Motion

"Bloody hell!"

"Harry! Language!"

Harry shot a glare at his best female friend, and decided that he really needed to start getting back at her for stopping his use of certain parts of the English language.

Harry shook his head as he stood up. Even expected as it was, the fact that his name had come out of the ancient tort – err – relic was still upsetting. As he got to the front of the Hall, he hopped up onto the dais and turned to face the assembled students, before he opened his mouth and executed plan A-1 or as he otherwise called it, 'cover my ass'.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let us get the following out of the way." He pulled his wand out and held it tip up and said, "_I, Harry James Potter, hereby solemnly swear on my life and magic that I did not contribute, by word or deed, to my name coming out of the Goblet of Fire as a champion of the Triwizard Tournament. So mote it be._" The tip of his wand flashed to confirm the oath was in effect. He quickly threw off a spell that mimicked a magnesium flare to show that along with being alive, he still had his magic. "Now with that taken care of, I want you all to know that anyone who spreads rumors about how I am a glory seeking prat will soon be in contact with my solicitors about a pending defamation of character lawsuit." He then stalked off through the door the other three champions had gone through.

As Harry slumped through the door, Fleur, showing a rare lack of elegance said, "Crap."

Harry grunted as he went to lean against one of the walls, and said, "That about sums it up Fleur. Cedric, I want to apologize again, though you will find out I just swore a magical oath in front of everyone in the castle, less you three, that I had nothing to do with my name coming out of the Goblet."

Cedric shook his head and said, "No need to apologize if it isn't your fault Harry, though I will enjoy competing against you."

"Thank you. Though I will tell you three something that my research has turned up. Almost universally the first task involves single combat against some sort of magical creature. And it has been about a half a dozen Tournaments since they have used dragons. Just warning you lot."

The three older students stared at Harry with various looks of incredulity on their faces when the door to the Great Hall opened again to admit the Heads of the three schools, Professor McGonagall, Bagman, Crouch, Professor Moony, not to be confused with the ex-Auror who entered on the werewolf's heels.

Bagman was rather animated, rubbing his hands together and saying, "Well this is quite unprecedented, it looks as though we have a... fourth... champion."

Karkaroff scoffed and said, "This is ridiculous, Albus. The lad may have had no hand in his participation, but Hogwarts is getting two bites at the apple. Most unfair."

Maxime nodded and rumbled out, "Karkaroff is quite right. I suggest we relight the Goblet and have both of our schools resubmit names so that it is a more even competition."

The Durmstrang headmaster sneered, and added, "And if that does not happen, we shall just take our schools and go home."

Moody barked out at this, "You'd like that wouldn't you Igor. There is the little matter of the binding magical contract that each of the champions are currently under. You take your school, your prized student is going to have to stay behind to compete."

At the mention 'binding magical contract' Harry started laughing. All of the adults present, save for Moony, gave him various dirty looks.

Wiping a tear from his eye, and straightening as though he was completely unaffected by the glares. "If you are going to go through the trouble of saying a phrase like that call the situation what it really is. The Goblet of Fire will torture any of the champions that refuse to compete into insanity and then it will kill them."

Everyone present, with exceptions again for Moony and now also Fleur, stared at Harry like he was a complete and utter madman.

"What? Have none of you done your research on just where the extremely powerful magical object you are using on _schoolchildren_ comes from? I found out that the descriptions of the Goblet of Fire and an artifact used in the Colosseum in Ancient Rome are frighteningly similar with only an hour or so of research. Are you telling me that _no one _in the history of this Merlin forsaken Tournament has done that?"

As everyone save the prior two mentioned continued to stare at The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry decided to splutter to himself a few times, and then mutter an extremely disparaging 'wizards'.

Having effectively cut through all of the arguments that would crop up about either pulling out their champion or whether Harry would have to compete he removed himself from the conversation.

Rolling his eyes, Harry tapped his foot against the floor, waiting the people who were supposed to be in charge to gather themselves back together, while Mad-Eye was railing on about how this was an assassination attempt.

* * *

Idly flipping the pages of the small booklet he had been given Harry was a little disconcerted about how little the rules actually had changed from the last time the Tournament had been pulled out of mothballs. And if what was written about that particular iteration is correct, no one survived past the first task.

But then again the idiot who had planned the task had somehow gotten his hands on a nundu. There were no reports that explained just how the single most dangerous magical creature in existence had been; a, captured; b, transported to Durmstrang; and c, how anyone watching the task had survived.

And then a stray thought brought Harry to a full stop, his eyes widening as much as humanly possible. And then his metamorph capabilities kicked in and they widened further.

"I am staying as far away from Africa as humanly possible. I am not going to end up with a bloody nundu as a familiar. No. It is not going to happen."

He continued on in that manner for few minutes while he shuddered at the thought of having to keep company with one of those killing machines, and then read the last page of the rulebook. He nodded and slipped it into an inside pocket of his robes. The rules on the side of the champions boiled down to two phrases, both of which brought a rather feral grin to Harry's face when they were combined.

_'That which is not forbidden is allowed'_ were the first words written in what he had just read. That did not seem like something which promoted international cooperation, but then again, the last words in the book were _'it is only cheating if you get caught before the task starts'_ which gave an even better view of just how the committee who wrote this version of the rulebook viewed the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

But, given that he had read the very first competitor rulebook, and that what was in it seemed to be in line with the purpose of the Tournament, that is to say international cooperation and friendship, it could be attributed to an idea that was born in good greatness becoming tarnished over the years.

Another good thing is that there was no standardized 'uniform' for the champions, so he could start fabrication on the armored clothing he was planning, and finding a way to smuggle his equipment into the task with him.

Bad news was that the first task was scheduled to take place on Wednesday the Twenty-first. And the only hint that had been given was that the task was going to 'test their daring'. He'd have to get in on whatever pool the school's resident student bookies would be setting up. He was almost certain the the advice he had dropped on his fellow champions was correct.

He idly started to list all of the things he needed to do. Near the top was getting Padfoot and Bella to move into Hogsmeade, fetching the family book of shadows from Potter Manor, setting up whatever it was he was going to end up doing with time compression... He continued adding objectives to his ever growing itinerary, shuffling about the various tasks to get some of the more important ones to the fore.

He'd need to get off the grounds at one point, and was glad that part of the rules of the Triwizard allowed for him to get off school grounds for upwards of seven hours a week, so long as he was accompanied by a member of the faculty.

Muttering distractedly to himself in Gaelic, Harry continued on his way to the Gryffindor Common Room.

* * *

After being mobbed by the entirety of Gryffindor, many of whom asked him who had entered him into the Tournament or wished him good luck in winning (or as a few of the more pessimistic put it, surviving), Harry had managed to win through to the boys' dorms.

He looked at where Alistair sat on one of his bed posts, and though he had spoken a few times with the Hat, they had talked a little about what the hell was going to end up troubling Harry this year...

_:.:.:Flashback:.:.:_

_Harry sat crossed-legged on his bed, the night of the First. One of the school elves had popped in with Alistair a little after ten at night, and the Hat was now set on the bed with him, the curtains of the fourposter drawn with a bevy of spells applied to them to ensure that there was some privacy._

"_So, Alistair, Tri-Wizard Tournament?"_

"_Nothing good will come of this Harry. As one sentient artifact speaking of an other, that blasted cup has nothing in its workings to prevent someone from being bound to compete against their will. What is more that is when the damn thing is active, it puts off enough energy to confuse the wards in a sphere with a dozen yards radius. Take a look at the map after they light the bastard and you'll see what I mean."_

"_I've got a few rough plans that I can start rolling, but I want to know for sure whether or not I will be competing before I start putting resources into use."_

"_Aye, laddie, I would suggest that. There is nothing we can do until the Goblet is lit, and even less in the period there is between then and the naming of the champions."_

"_So, we're basically in a holding pattern until next Sunday."_

"_Yes. Get some sleep Harry, though I think we'll put off seeing what is new and different about your Occlumency until a day or two after the champions are named."_

"_Night Alistair."_

"_Goodnight Harry."_

_:.:.:Flashback End:.:.:_

"Well, Alistair, the expected has come to pass."

"And so hope once more goes unanswered. They spill the beans about the first task?"

"A 'test of daring'. I say that it is going to have something to do with dragons. The first task is always magical creatures, and it has been a while since the Tournament has used them."

"Hopefully there won't be a repeat of what happened last time..."

"Last time there was a nundu..." Harry shivered at the mention of that particular creature.

"Well you could be wrong and end up fighting a chimera."

"Which is why I am going to put together a 'bag of tricks' that I can hopefully summon to myself with ease."

"And just what are you planning on stocking said bag with?"

"My latest test staff, various magical explosives, spears with heads coated in basilisk venom, a couple hundred feet of chain that is the very least rune reinforced if not made of some high test magical metal..."

"Harry, just how much overkill are you going for?"

"There is no such thing as overkill. There is only 'open fire' and 'reload'. Where was I?"

"Chains."

"Oh yes, and various other... oddities that I feel may or may not be useful."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not. Any suggestions?"

"Nothing I feel comfortable making. You'll likely blow it out of proportion."

"Or just blow it up."

"That too. How are you planning on getting this done?"

"I'm fairly certain I can get a space that I can use time compression magics on fairly soon."

"Just how compressed are we talking about?"

"I can reliably and efficiently compress a day down into an hour, and have it run for seven real hours or seven subjective days. The chamber will then need to reset for three real days from the point compression began before it can be used again. Though the rune structure will collapse after fifty two compressed weeks. I'll be heading to Potter Manor tomorrow and seeing if House Potter managed to keep their hands on their house time turner..."

"If Potter doesn't have theirs, ask your reprobate of a godfather. Black will almost certainly have theirs still. Are you going to be turning max time?"

"Don't know. Mostly I want to use it so that I can get the compression chamber up and running by Wednesday night at the latest. That'll get me three compressed weeks in addition to nine real days, not counting Wednesday the Twenty-first."

"Well if you get as much time as you can, you'll be able to attend class," Harry scoffed at that, while he got some insight into the magic from watching the teachers do examples, and the additional explanations of theory were helpful at times, there were also many times when he was dreadfully bored, "and continue to act as a quasi-normal teenager, while still having a lot of time to prepare yourself."

"We don't even know if I can get my hands on a time turner, so all it is right now is idle planning..."

"Planning is a good thing Harry."

"I know, I've been making a list of things I'd like to get done..."

"That is a start young man..."

* * *

Harry had caught up to his Head of House as she exited the Great Hall after breakfast the following morning.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall, I need to speak with you about a few things concerning the Tournament."

"Of course Mister Potter, what is it?"

"There is an, allowance, in the competitors' rules that allows champions to leave the host school's grounds for seven hours a week, either to seek help from family members, purchase materials to prepare for the tasks, or as it is most often used at first, make a will. This is of course with the caveat that champions who are minors must be accompanied by a member of the faculty. I need to make trips to Diagon Alley, Potter Manor, and the Marauders' Manor."

"I can see why you need to do that Mister Potter, I will see about getting a member of the staff to escort you..."

"I was thinking of asking you if Hagrid is free. He is the only person on the faculty that is both in on the Secret of the Marauders' Manor and is still keyed for entry through the Potter Manor wards."

McGonagall stopped for a moment, thinking, and then she nodded. "Yes, I believe that Hagrid is not doing anything too pressing for the moment, and he would be more than happy to help you. Go collect your cloak and whatever you will need to bring with you, and I will send a message to Hagrid by way of one of the House-Elves. Meet him at his cabin. Tell me which classes you have this morning, and I will see about sending messages to your professors about missing your morning class. But that does not mean if you finish quickly that you are excused from whatever classes remain."

"Thank you Professor. What I have planned may take place very quickly, or it may drag on toward lunch."

"Though I may not be able to render you the help I would want to in the Tournament Mister Potter, I do wish you good luck."

* * *

Harry jogged to keep pace with the half-giant as they reached the gates of the school. As soon as they got beyond the wards, Harry grabbed Hagrid by the arm, and warned him that he was about to activate his House portkey to Potter Manor.

As his feet hit the ground after the trip, he said in a slightly loud voice, "Darda?"

A swift 'pop', and a voice said, "Yes, Master Harry?"

Harry spoke quietly to his head elf while Hagrid stared about the room, "Can you fetch me the family book of shadows, or does the magic of it prevent you from touching it?"

"I can get the book for you Master Harry. Is there anything else that you be needing?"

"Yes, do you know whether or not that House Potter still has a time turner?"

The elf nodded enthusiastically.

"Can you also fetch that for me?"

Another happy nod.

"Thank you very much Darda."

The elf popped away, and Harry moved over to the fireplace to begin the process of unlocking the Floo for an hour or so. Since he had taken ownership of Potter Manor, he had kept the wards at a relatively high level of activity, ensuring that only he, the elves, and a few others could even get to the property. Harry had not been entirely truthful to McGonagall about Hagrid still being keyed to the wards, even if Sirius had trusted the monster-loving man with the Secret of his own home. Rather it was the fact that the Family portkey could be used to temporarily allow someone access to the property.

As he had just finished prepping the Floo for his and Hagrid's use, Darda came popping back in with a large book with a velvet bag perched on top of it. They had only spent about five minutes at their current location.

"Here you goes Master Harry, the two things you have been asking for."

"Once more thank you Darda. We'll be coming back here by Floo to use the return function on my portkey after I finish my other business."

The elf smiled happily as Harry place the precious, precious book in the bag he had brought with him, and placed the velvet bag, after having checked it for its highly controlled contents, into a pocket of his robes.

"Hagrid, we're going to the Leaky Cauldron first."

Harry picked up some Floo powder and made his way through.

* * *

Harry's run into Diagon Alley consisted only of a trip into the vaults at Gringotts, which Hagrid begged off on 'holding his hand' commenting on his absolute hatred for the mine carts, before they went to their last stop.

As Harry stepped through the Floo into the Marauders' Manor, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "Padfoot, get your mangy arses down here, now! "

Not two minutes later, the prankster made his way into the den, followed shortly by Bella who had been drawn by the yelling. As they entered, Harry said, "I haven't seen today's Daily Prophet yet, but just in case they missed last night's events, I am the fourth Tri-Wizard Champion."

The three got into a huddle, during which Harry handed them a set of keys saying, "These are the keys to the only Potter residence in Hogsmeade."

Bella had replied, "I'll make sure that the slacker and I are in residence by Friday afternoon."

Next the elder pair acted as a sounding board for the statement, "First task is likely dragons, panic later, ideas now please."

Sirius had said, "Go for the eyes," while Bella added, "Dropping rocks on it from a great height works well too."

The last thing was Harry asking, "I might need to borrow some money due to spending limits on my trust, Padfoot."

The response was a light smack on the back of the head and a retort of, "If it helps you survive long enough to inherit, it is not borrowing."

As they kicked a few other trains of thought around, an elf walked into the room holding the morning edition of the Prophet. The headline was asexpected, though part of it relieved Harry.

**Boy-Who-Lives Fourth Tri-Wizard Champion**

**Denies Any Involvement in Being Chosen by Oath**

Harry blinked a few times and then nodded. "Alright, well at least that answers one thing on my mind. Anything else you three can think of that might help me live to see fifteen?"

Sirius paused for a moment and said, "Yes, keep your communication mirror on you at all times. I'll do the same."

Nodding Harry said, "Of course, I'll probably be more than properly paranoid by the end of the school year..." before he called out, "Dobby!"

Talking to the house elf after he had popped into the room, Harry delivered a handful of orders to the excitable being. He then gave his goodbyes, and went back through the Floo with Hagrid to Potter Manor, followed by using the return function of the portkey.

* * *

Returning to his dormitory after having finished his classes, Harry started grabbing things that he thought he may need. He was actually rather lucky in the fact that McGonagall was usually one of the first Professors to take breakfast. He had actually only missed half an hour of Herbology, and had easily caught up to the remainder of the class.

Double checking his mental lists, and snatching his invisibility cloak, as if you were going to move around the castle while there were two of you about, and when meeting yourself could result in some very unpleasant results, it would be best if one of you were never seen. Harry placed the box with his shrunken trunks in his bag. He walked over to the potion that was in progress near his bed and gave it a quick once over to ensure that everything was proceeding smoothly.

He made his way over to the top floor of the North wing, going over the ways to determine whether a space had been expanded or not. He felt an ache forming between his eyes at the thought of having to expand an already expanded space.

'Ugh. The calculations are tedious, the anchoring rune arrays overly complex, and the expanding process in and of itself is going to be a massive magic sink if the room I use is already in an enlarged space...'

* * *

Dobby twitched several times as he waited for Master Harry. He had been asked earlier in the day to secure this room and secure it he did! No one besides a few bugs and a mouse or two had come into it since he had taken up his guard post, besides Master Harry having appeared out of nowhere five or so minutes after he had gotten there.

Yes he had swept the floor, dusted the furniture (after having had to fix some of it), and had even got some scrubbing done, but now he was starting to get bored. He was starting to think about getting cleaning again but what to...

"Hello Dobby."

"Master Harry!"

"So where did I show up?"

Dobby pointed to a corner of the room.

He spoke as he was checking his watch, "Thank you Dobby. I'll probably be in one of the other rooms on this floor of the wing, working. Feel free to check and see if I need anything."

Finishing that, he took the velvet bag out of his pocket and draped an ornate hourglass with platinum workings and a platinum chain around his neck. Taking the device in both hands, he started to give the hourglass a number of turns before he faded from sight.

Dobby quickly popped through a few of the other rooms, to see if his Master Harry needed anything.

Eventually coming to a room much larger than any of the others he had seen easily the size of a large football pitch with the ceiling raised to being at least twice as high from where the others had been, he saw Master Harry laying on the floor, taking deep heaving breaths.

"Are you okays Master Harry?"

"Ah Dobby, how marvelous to see you... Do you think you could go to the kitchens and get me something to eat? I am a mite bit peckish."

* * *

Idly picking at the plate of food with a fork in one hand, Harry used construction conjuration to start calling forth the materials he would need for the next stage of his project. He was going to need to head to bed soon, and had in fact slept for an hour partway through the planning process for enlarging the room.

He cursed under his breath at remembering that. The room was indeed part of an expanded space to begin with, and the process of bringing it up to the dimensions he thought he would need was annoying to say the least. And even thinking of it made his head swim with visions of calculations passing before his eyes.

He was going to need to work out some kind of schedule to keep himself from falling asleep during the middle of the day. Harry had one thought to sum up the haze of thoughts and plans that were floating in his head.

'This is going to be a long ten days...'

He blinked a few times, before cracking up, and literally rolling on the floor in laughter.

* * *

Tuesday had passed quickly enough, though there was the slight issue that Harry had Astronomy tonight, but he shrugged it off and turned himself back to that morning, and headed back to the area he was working on.

Conjuring more material (almost exclusively marble), while for the sake of variation vanishing bits of detritus and excess furniture, Harry idly noted that it looked like Dobby had spent the night scrubbing the floor and walls... and quite possibly the ceiling too.

He'd have to thank the little elf for that later. It would make covering the surfaces in about four centimeters of marble that much easier...

A few hours later Harry used a spell to call forth a few spheres of light before he vanished the lamps on the walls of the room so that he could finish sheathing the walls in marble. Whereever there was a joint between walls, ceiling, or floor, the marble curved from one surface to another, leaving one continuous smooth surface.

Though that was not the only thing that had changed. In the middle of the room, sitting a yard from any of the other surfaces, though supported by a number of columns and beams connecting to various points on floor, ceiling, and wall, was a box of marble cutting off the remaining space in the room from the new outer area. There were still gaps in the marble, one located at the door that led out to the school and the other that led into the inner area.

Now came the really, really tedious part. Harry had runic arrays that he was going to have to inscribe on the marble in various places... And the number of times he would have to make the arrays increased proportionally to the size of the area the arrays were in.

"Bugger! I shouldn't have made the room so damn big!"

* * *

"Too many runes..."

Harry flung himself down on his bed in the dorms, groaning and muttering to himself. He was glad that he had remembered the wheeled boards that he had heard mechanics used, otherwise it would have been far worse. In fact, after sticking himself to the board, and then using one of the... odder adhesion charms he knew on the wheels, he was able to hang himself upside down and work on surfaces that would normally have his nose to the ground, or crouching on the floor.

Alistair cleared his non-existent throat. Harry decided rather than asking what the Hat wanted, to instead think on just how it managed that. Sure, the hat talks, very interesting, but how would one clear a throat that isn't even there?

"How in Merlin's name do you do that?"

And at this point Harry was fairly certain the hat would be staring at him if it had eyes. Though even though it didn't it still felt like it was.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Get some sleep."

* * *

Harry stared down into the cauldron, disbelief written on his features. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. After all the trouble he had taken to move it from the Manor to Hogwarts, after all the time and effort put into the process, and the headache it took to triple the size of the batch, this was not what he expected.

He reached into the cauldron with both hands and scooped out the contents. Barely filling his cupped hands were a pile of metallic blue flakes.

"I'm going to need a bigger cauldron."

* * *

It was Sunday morning and while Harry was idly picking at his breakfast, he was still... annoyed at the result of his first attempt at making a magical metal. Though he wasn't sure if he was more upset because he normally didn't get angry or the fact he hadn't been this tired since the last time he had magically exhausted himself.

Though he had been expecting it, his first time compression on Wednesday had been mostly spent setting up the space he was planning on using. It hadn't been until 'late' into the fifth day that he had finally gotten things to an acceptable point that he could pick back up on work on some of his projects. The one on Saturday had been far more productive, but he was starting to feel a little squeezed for time... Part of him wondered how the other champions were dealing with the stress.

He was brought out of his thoughts when Hermione jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Wha'?"

"You need to actually eat Harry, not stare off into space... Which by the way is just plain strange."

"I was thinking!"

She rolled her eyes at him and said, "Then that just goes to show that something is off with you. You are almost always doing something Harry. Whether it is leafing though any one of the many books you read, working on a Rubik's Cube, or I've even seen you do a puzzle occasionally, I rarely see you ever just stare off into nothing... And besides which I need to talk to you privately about something."

Harry raised an eyebrow in a most questioning manner as he pulled his wand out and threw up a half a dozen privacy spells, before saying, "And just what is it that you wanted to ask, O smartest witch of her generation?"

She flushed red at the jab, she pushed on anyway, "I was hoping to remind of some advice you tried to give me last year..."

Harry blinked a few times, and then let out a low whistle. "That was quick, how'd I mess up? I wasn't expecting on you to pick up on it for a few more weeks..."

"You'd leave the tower for five minutes relatively bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and come back dragging your feet, though it was only an extremely vague guess until you confirmed it for me."

He chuckled lightly and said, "Anything else?"

"Apart from where it came from... not really."

"Family artifact."

"But the Ministry..."

"Has loopholes for everything if it concerns 'family' magics and an Ancient House. More over this particular one was made by a Potter. Which, as we are talking about it anyway, I was underinformed when I talked about the limits of time turners to you last year..."

Her eyes brightened at the talk of discussing some new and different knowledge. She motioned for him to continue.

"By and large, the time turners that I talked about were made with the tried and true methods that Ministries and private enchanters the world wide use. It is not broken, works more than well enough, so why improve it? Potters have a tendency to get bored and do things that most wizards would deem insane, such as building a better mousetrap using Fiendfyre, debating philosophy with a chimera, and, yes, seeking to improve the 'common' time turner."

Hermione just stared at Harry for a moment before saying, "So the fact that you are as bizarre as you are isn't because that you have led a screwed up life, but rather that the majority of Potters are insane?"

Harry nodded and took a few more bites of his breakfast, before qualifying, "Well, it usually takes Potters a few decades to get strange, so really I'm just ahead of schedule."

"So how far back can it go Harry?"

"Little slip of paper with it said about thirteen hours, and the notes in the Potter book of shadows confirm it..."

"So what preparations are you making for the first task?"

"Ways to incapacitate or kill large magical creatures."

"Why?"

"In the vast, vast majority of the First Tasks of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, it has almost always been some manner of confrontation with a deadly creature. Hagrid would feel right at home with the beasties they have used, especially since he has always said he has wanted a dragon."

Hermione blinked several times, the thought of school and government officials putting school children up against dragons causing a great deal of upset to her. She also decided to see what she could dig up on the history of the tournament.

"But what are you planning?"

Harry smiled smugly, and said, after dropping the privacy spells around them with a twitch of his wand, "That would be telling."

* * *

Later that day, Harry finally managed to get to another task that was fairly high on his to-do list.

"Fred, George, I have an offer that you might find interesting."

"Oh, and just what does ickle..."

"Harrykins think could interest us?"

"I need a pair of test subjects so that I can get some practical experience with illusions..." George opened his mouth to say something, though Harry just plowed ahead, "And I can't use the Slytherins because I want actual feedback on what I am doing."

The twins shared a silent conversation lasting all of a few minutes, before Fred said, "What are you offering?"

"Five galleons an hour each, you two will be told before I start any illusion, and I won't use any illusions I feel are mentally scarring."

The Weasleys shared one more wordless conversation, before they broke into wicked looking grins.

"We have just one..."

"... thing that we want to ask in addition."

"For every week that you hire us for more than..."

"... four hours, you have to help us by testing three of our 'products'."

"Boys, you are forgetting one thing. Transformative magics and potions tend to act, wonky, when they are used on metamorphs. Since the vast majority of your future joke products are either charmed or potioned candies that do something to alter the one eating the treat..."

The twins facepalmed in perfect unison, though Harry did note that George used his left hand while Fred used his right.

"Fine then we'll just have to ask your help..."

"... on getting at the Slytherins. Same conditions however."

"Gentlemen, we have an accord."

* * *

Later that evening, while the other Fourth Year boys were down in the Common Room Harry was kneeling on his bed, pursuing some of his attempts at deeper meditations, when his concentration was broken by a certain Hat.

"Harry?"

"Hrm?"

"Are you meditating or napping?"

The next reply was rather mumbled, "Not quite sure..."

"We've gone over what... changes... you've made to your mindscape, and I've taught you just about everything I know about the defensive nature of the Mind Arts..."

"And what little you know about internalized Mind magics."

"Yes, yes, you and the bizarre things that you get up to in that head of yours... Creating aspects of your mind, I swear if you weren't already insane in the inexplicable way that you are, it would have driven you mad. But as I was saying, we've never actually tested your defenses..."

"So you want to skirmish with me?"

If the hat could have grinned, it would have been one of the more smug varieties.

"Why is it that I feel I am going to soon be the proud owner of a killer headache?"

Five minutes later found Harry still sitting on his bed, however Alistair was now on his head, poking at his mental shields.

Then the attack began in earnest, massive blows of force striking the outermost walls of Harry's defenses in multiple places, while wedges of thought attempted to worm their way through any gaps that might develop. Harry knew that during an actual attack on his mind, he couldn't take the chance to rebuild any defenses that got undermined, it would only make things worse.

And so he waited for Alistair to make his way through the walls.

* * *

He had spent the last relative two hours pounding his way through the walls and gates surrounding Harry's mind. Alistair was actually quite proud of the young man. Having brute force shields that could keep him out for that long was truly impressive.

But the gate, while truly monstrous as gates go, was weaker than the wall. As the Hat moved into the next section of Harry's mind, he found that he was no longer an amorphous haze of thought. He stopped for a moment, and wondered at being forced into a physical form. He looked down at his hands.

A physical, _human_ form.

Alistair decided it was now time to see just how constrained to the laws of this place he was. It was a little known fact, but the type of defenses built were just as important as how they were constructed. When walls were built to block, they had to be undermined or a weakness exploited. When the same walls were built into a maze, you could destroy them to your heart's content and get no further into the mind. You had to traverse what was created to move on.

He hopped into the air, landing back onto his feet. Flight was out. He took a few steps and only moved a few feet. So was super speed. He twitched a few times. And transforming into anything other than human was also not going to happen.

Alistair sighed and pulled a wand from his pocket and gave it an experimental wave. Ah, sparks. At least he had magic. Still, this was going to be very interesting.

* * *

Three Harrys sat on a couch passing a bucket of popcorn between themselves watching Alistair make his way through their mind from multiple angles on four big screen tellies.

Fang grinned ear to ear, and said, "Wait for it, wait for it... NOW!"

And the trio dissolved into laughter as the Hat was savaged by a small white rabbit.

Morpheus smiled serenely (the expression reminded the other two of Luna, bless her mad little heart) as he sent an attempt to eject the Hat from the mind of Harry Potter.

The only reaction from Alistair was the conjuring of a sword to skewer the vorpal-bunny.

Fang scowled and then hissed out, "Boo! Give him a red card ref, cruelty to animals!"

* * *

Alistair limped his way into the library, fighting off the occasional attempt to eject him from the young man's mind. It was bad enough he had barely survived the traps that had been strewn about the path to this place, but all the manner of vicious creatures that continued to pop up was getting on his last nerve. He scowled as he dragged himself over to a bookshelf and opened one of the tomes...

He read a few pages and found naught but bloody bad poetry. He kept looking...

He was ready to rip his body's hair out in frustration fifteen minutes later. There was nothing in here except for the most horrid rhyming in existence. Though for some reason he had not found any Seuss. Maybe Harry was fond of those books...

Alistair brought his palm to his forehead as he saw a spiral staircase in the middle of the room. He had been so caught up at being past the traps that he had not thought he wasn't at the end of Harry's defenses.

The Hat slumped down the stairs, and exited through the door at the bottom.

To find himself in a endless field of bright green grass with a gray tower so tall that it disappeared into the sky in the center. Now he just wanted to cry. He'd completely forgotten that his first choice of Houses for this young man had been Slytherin.

Just as he started to trek toward the distant tower, he heard a cry of, "Boot-to-the-head!" Which was followed by a sharp pain in his skull, with the strongest attempt to eject him from the mindscape yet. He caught a glimpse of who kicked him out of the corner of his eye but he was caught completely off guard, he was ejected back into his vessel, which then tumbled off of Harry's head.

* * *

Back on the couch the Fang, Morpheus, and the original Harry, who was actually rolling around on the floor, were all laughing themselves sick at the antics of their newest aspect.

Morpheus gasped out, "I knew it was a good idea to make that guy. So what do we name him?"

Fang managed to get himself under enough control to only snicker, and said, "We all know who we modeled him after..."

Harry sat up, still chortling, "Yes, but do we name him after the actor or the character?"

One more Harry stepped into the room. He was wearing a blue plaid long sleeved shirt and blue jeans, and lugging around a chainsaw.

"Can I have my boomstick now?"

* * *

Harry came back to reality to find the Hat grumbling irately in Welsh.

"Hey, Al, don't blame me for the fact you wanted a live fire test of my defenses."

The Hat twitched in Harry's direction, and the last Potter could have sworn that it was giving him a dirty look when Alistair said, "Just who the hell booted me in the head?"

"My newest aspect, who has domain over all things involving combat and asskickery, Bruce."

The was a groan from Alistair, before he spoke, "Please tell me that you didn't..."

"Make him in the image of the king of Badassery Ashley J. Williams of the Evil Dead series as portrayed by Bruce Campbell?"

"Yes, him."

"I'd be lying if I did."

Alistair went back to his mumbling, Harry hadn't heard any of the curses he knew in Welsh used so well before, so Harry moved him off the bed and leaned back against his headboard to repair the damage that Alistair's incursion had done to his defenses.

* * *

Tuesday had been normal, he had gone to his classes, eaten his meals, turned back to the morning. The time compression array had finished its cooldown from Saturday's use. He'd then managed to finish his preparations for the first task. He'd finished the compression having read a bit more from the family book of shadows.

He was currently resting his eyes while he was sitting on top of the Astronomy Tower. He was glad that this particular spot of the school didn't become snog central until after the sun went down. There were still a few hours to go until he caught up with himself. He felt something on the outer most edge of his magical senses, but ignored it. There were four of whatever they were, and they were very magical.

He was currently floating somewhere between being asleep and meditating, and he spent the next several hours like this. Coming out of his little trance, he grumbled hopes that the next task would be far enough away that he would be able to cut back on how hard he was working.

Idly summoning one of his mostly completed projects from where he had left it, Harry stared off into the distance, trying to narrow down where the things that were pinging his magical senses were located.

He glanced at the Quidditch pitch, and saw that it had been overhauled since last year. There had been a lot more seating added. He held out his right hand as he turned toward where Hagrid's hut was located on the grounds, and caught what looked like a set of ornate spyglass as it came toward him.

Looking through the object, he looked off into the Forbidden Forest in the distance.

He pulled the device away from his eye and sighed. "I hate being right all the time."

He checked his watch to see if the earlier him had turned back yet, nodded, and then he conjured some parchment, ink, and a quill. He wrote three quick notes and charmed them to find those they were addressed to. Three origami birds sped off into the castle as he went back to watching what he had found.

Ten minutes later, the door to the top of the Tower had opened, showing Cedric Diggory.

"You wanted to talk to me about something Harry?", he asked warmly.

Harry held out the spyglass toward the Hufflepuff, and said, "To the left of Hagrid's hut, keep looking into the forest. It'll be hard to miss it."

Cedric shrugged, and accepted the optical device, and looked where Harry directed him. And then he started muttering under his breath passing the spyglass back to Harry, saying words that no self-respecting 'Puff should ever say. And Fleur took that moment to come onto the top of the tower.

She said, with her thick French accent, while smiling warmly at Harry, "Hello, Harry, Cedric. You wanted to show me something Harry?"

He directed her to look at the same area he had Cedric survey. She saw what both of the Hogwarts students had already seen, and turned to Harry to say, "If you say 'I told you so', I'll make it so that there will never be any more Potters. Understood?"

Harry nodded vigorously.

Fleur continued on, "I assume we are waiting for...", before she was interrupted by the last champion and his brother came through the door.

Viktor grunted his greetings, to which Ivan said, in a rather cheeky manner, "I'll translate that for those not fluent in barely verbal communications. 'Good evening to all of you, Harry what do you want?'"

Ivan got slapped upside the head.

Harry handed the elder Bulgarian the spyglass, directed him where to look and waited. When Viktor finally found what he was told to look for, he started muttering under his breath, easily heard in the silence as the three other champions and one family member waited.

"Horntail, Fireball, Short-snout... and a Welsh Green? Welsh Greens are considered the adorable harmless puppies of the dragon breeds...", Viktor scoffed as he spoke the latter part.

Harry grunted in a vaguely disgruntled manner at that and said, "And all four appear to be nesting mothers."

Both Fleur and Cedric swore in their native tongues at that bit of news, and then all of the champions in their majority started muttering complaints about Ministry officials.

An owl winged its way over to Harry, and landed on the parapet near him, holding out its leg. Harry pulled the message and started reading it, after thanking the bird. After finishing reading, he flicked his hand in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

"So anyone need to talk to me about anything?"

Viktor grunted and said, in his nearly unintelligible accent, as he passed the spyglass back to Harry, "How did you get telescope to see through trees?"

"I was wondering who would notice that. It's a little enchantment that predates the Statute of Secrecy, used primarily by military scouts. Depending on how it is cast, it can thin out or eliminate the appearance of a forest through telescopes. I've got this one tuned to a one to twenty ratio. It was an enjoyable little project that I never thought I'd get any use from."

Harry idly held out his hand and caught a broom that was speeding in his direction. "Anything else? I need to talk to a half-giant about a few things..."

There were general noises that there was nothing more to be said, so Harry had one last thing to say before he took off on his Firebolt, "Well, I bid you all good evening, and good luck tomorrow."

* * *

Landing in front of the very large man's cabin, Harry shouldered his broom, and knocked on the door.

He heard, "One minute, one minute...", before the door swung open and revealed the bearded visage of Hagrid, who then said, "Harry? I thought I didn't ask ya to come until much later..."

"I already know about the dragons, and I suspected that would be what the first task would be long before they got here. What I want to know is whose idea it was for you to show me them?"

"I just wanted to help ya Harry..."

"I know Hagrid, and thank you for telling me, but who thought it would be a good idea to have you help me cheat?"

The large man looked down at his feet, and kicked one of his massive feet back and forth, looking for all the world like a massive, hairy child caught in some wrong doing.

"Moody."

"Oh, alright."

"That's it Harry? 'Alright?'"

"My father knew Alastor Moody, the paranoid maniac that he is, fairly well. He helped my dad when he was training to be a Hit Wizard. He told my dad, 'The only fair fight you get into is one where you have no other choice.' From what I understand the Mad-eyed Auror was actually quite fond of my old man."

"Ah. You want some tea Harry?"

"Just so long as I don't have to eat any of your Rock Cakes, I would love a cup of tea Hagrid."

* * *

Harry had trouble sleeping that night, eventually having to settle for stunning himself. And at breakfast the next morning, he found himself barely capable of eating. Eventually, Dumbledore rose to address the collected mass of students.

"In honor of today's event, there will be no classes today," Hermione made a disappointed noise from her seat near Harry while the rest of the school rejoiced, "The first task is scheduled to being at one in the afternoon, in the Quidditch Stadium, though the champions will be asked to head down there at half past eleven. Lunch today will start at eleven, and run until half past twelve."

Harry, not able to eat anymore, rose from his seat after Dumbledore had finished his announcement. "I have a few last minute preparations to make. I may or may not see you before the task."

* * *

Harry walked down to the Stadium, dressed in the armored clothing he had made. The pants were relatively loose fitting and had many pockets running along the sides, the shirt was nothing more than a simple t-shirt, he had a new pair of dragonhide boots, a pair of dragonhide fingerless gloves, and a dragonhide trench coat. All of it was black, save for a bit of color from a Hogwarts emblem that Harry had added to the left shoulder of the coat.

He felt a little under protected with his shield ring off of his finger.

Bagman was waiting for Harry outside of a tent placed near one of the larger entrances to the stadium.

"Ah, Harry, m'boy, come here for a moment. You are the first champion to get here. I'd like to speak to you for a moment..."

"Yes, Mister Bagman?"

"Please, call me Ludo when no one else is around. Do you have any idea what you are going to do about the task today?"

"Several..."

The elder man smiled condescendingly, and said, "But how would you..."

Harry viciously cut in, "Because for the vast majority of the iterations of this competition, the first task always seems to follow the line of having something to do with dangerous magical beasts. Now, I assume that the champions are supposed to wait in the tent?"

The retired Quidditch player simply nodded, and Harry brushed past him. In the tent were a number of benches, Harry decided against sitting on one of them, and instead knelt down on both knees, and began meditating.

Harry heard someone sneaking up behind him, and then whisper just behind his ear, "Harry?"

"Yes, Fleur?"

The French champion huffed as she took a few steps away from Harry, and said, "I was hoping to see you jump a few feet into the air..."

Harry rolled his eyes as he levered himself back onto his feet, and asked, "And why was that?"

"Turnabout is fair play Harry."

All Harry did to reply was a combination grunt/snort that rather inelegantly conveyed his wry amusement at the blonde's antics.

They killed what time was left for the other champions and the people in charge to get there by debating whether or not modern art could even deserve to be called art. Harry was of the firm opinion that, "Random splashes of paint and compacted cars do not an artist make," while Fleur held out on that fact that, "Not all modern art is like that trash," because, "there are a vast array of colors that in the muggle world were not available until a few decades ago, and a number of artists revolve around the use of those colors in the contrast with other colors" and also "some take abstract art to its logical but absurd conclusion and so could actually be a satire on the particular art style."

At roughly twenty of twelve, the four champions were using various means of distracting themselves (Cedric was rereading the latest edition of Quidditch Quarterly, Viktor had borrowed one of Harry's Rubik's Cubes shortly before the World Cup and was playing with that, while Fleur and Harry continued to talk), when Crouch, stood at the back of the tent and said, "If I could have your attention please.

"Before we can commence with today's event, we must first have the ceremonial Weighing of the Wands to ensure that the wands in use by the champions are in proper working order. To do this, we have retained the services of Master Ollivander. Lots have been drawn by the heads to determine the order in which the champions shall go. Mr. Diggory?"

Cedric made his way over to the strange old man, and proffered his wand. As Ollivander examined it, he said, "Ah, yes, I remember this one. Ash, twelve and a quarter inches. Pleasantly springy. When I took the tail hair from a particularly fine male unicorn. Almost gored me with his horn after I removed the hair," Harry took this chance to once more yell out that Unicorns get a bad rap for being wimpy when the proof of badassery had just been shown, "_Avis_." A flock of birds burst from the tip of the wand. "Marvelous, as good as the day I sold it."

"I polished it last night."

Cedric returned to his magazine as Viktor was called to the fore.

"Hrm. Quite rigid and much thicker than you would usually see. Is this a Gregorovitch creation?"

Viktor nodded and said, "One of the last, before he went into retirement."

"I have never really been fond of his work," Harry once more had his own muttered interruption ("You're British, any work other than your own you find substandard."), "Hornbeam and... dragon heartstring? A most unusual combination. Ten and a quarter inches." He gestured with the wand, causing a fountain of wine to shoot out.

As Viktor shuffled his way back to a bench, Fleur was gestured forward to have her wand examined.

"Ahh. Rosewood, nine and a half inches. Rather inflexible. And is this... Veela hair?"

"It was my grandmother's..."

"I've always found Veela hair to be a bit too temperamental... _Orchideous_."

As Fleur returned to where she and Harry had been sitting, Harry came forward, knowing only he had been left, manually drawing his wand from its sheath at the base of his neck.

"Yes. One of my masterpieces. In fact, this wand may vary well be my magnum opus. Dragonwood, Thirteen inches. The entwined heartstrings of a particularly violent Hungarian Horntail, a massive Ukrainian Ironbelly, and a Roman Black found not far from the Seven Hills of Rome, I think they said it died halfway through the first century AD. The grip leather came from a Normandy White that died in its sleep at the ripe old age of two hundred. The runes are silver and gold that came from a dragon's hoard, and the magical sinks an alloy of Black Steel and a pair of scales from a Chinese Fireball that was found to enjoy watching Quidditch." He jabbed the wand at Harry, and grinned wickedly. "As mighty as the day I first made it."

He handed the wand back to Harry, who spoke under his breath, "I forgot to ask how I would tell if I needed to have how much energy my wand stores increase..."

Ollivander nodded and then said, "It is easy, runes will start to etch themselves in the metal, it should end at seven runes on each strip of metal."

"Thank you sir."

Harry then slumped away, knowing that the strange old man had forced his morphed features to revert. He scowled as he brought his appearance back to what he considered normal, though he left his hair short, seeing as how he would soon be tangling with a dragon.

Bagman came to the forefront, rubbing his hands together, as Harry unceremoniously dropped himself back into his seat by Fleur. "Now, the press wants some pictures before the first task..."

* * *

After the photo session, where Harry was forced to concede to being a part of a group shot, though he absolutely refused to be in any individual photos, the champions were served lunch in the tent if they had yet to eat, and they heard the stadium slowly fill with the students from three schools and those that had managed to get their hands on tickets to the first task.

Harry hadn't felt up to talking anymore, his nerves having started to feel a bit frayed, so he sat back against one of the walls of the tent and pulled a puzzle ring from a pocket of his jacket and started to play with it. He occasionally had to force himself to focus on the puzzle in front of him.

Harry was eventually brought out of his reverie when he heard someone say, in a poor attempt to sound official, "The time for the first task approaches." The Potter heir looked up and saw that Bagman was speaking again, "Your objective is to retrieve the golden egg. Now," He held out a purple velvet bag, "You will each draw something from this bag, and it will determine what you will face, and the order you go in. Drawing shall take place in the same order as the Weighing of the Wands. A member of the Hogwarts staff will come and escort each champion when his or her turn comes, and the tent will be silenced so that you go into the task knowing as much about it as any of the others."

Cedric went up first, as Harry picked himself up off the ground. Cedric pulled out of it an animated model of a bluish-gray Swedish Short-snout, with a tag emblazoned with the number one around its neck. Viktor came next and drew the scarlet Chinese Fireball, which was numbered three. Fleur drew the Common Welsh Green and the number two. Harry reached into the bag, already knowing what he would get. The Hungarian Horntail and he was going last.

He looked at each of his fellow champions, and gave a small half-smile. "I wish you all the best of luck." They each echoed his sentiments.

Hagrid came to get Cedric, and they all settled down to wait, with Harry grumbling about how this year was going to give him ulcers as he pulled out the puzzle ring from earlier.

* * *

Harry hated waiting. He watched as, one by one, the other champions went out to face their dragons. Finally a short time after Viktor had been led out, Hagrid came and led Harry away, the giant of a man doing his best to encourage Harry. They stopped at a large pair of doors, and Hagrid gave Harry one last encouraging pat on the shoulder that nearly sent him to the ground.

Righting himself and squaring his shoulders, Harry listened as Ludo Bagman once more played announcer.

"Now ladies and gentlemen, we have our last champion to compete today, also from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter!"

As doors in front of him swung open to deafening applause, and he drew his wand while he stepped out onto a rocky terrain that used to be his favorite Quidditch pitch. He idly considered various forms of prank based revenge if it was not back to being an actual pitch by the time next school year rolled around.

"And the dragon that he shall be facing is a Hungarian Horntail."

Harry cursed in Gobbledegook as a disillusionment field on the other end of the pitch dropped and the dragoness roared, revealing a far larger than average Horntail. He flicked his wand in the direction of the Astronomy Tower, summoning his bag of tricks. He wasn't entirely sure which plan he was going to go with, but he wanted the options that his 'toys' gave him.

A minute later, and while he was going over some of the more complicated methods he had come up with to neutralize the dragon, he snatched the flying rucksack out of the air.

He dropped to one knee, and started digging through the bag, muttering under his breath as he encountered various items.

"Hand grenades that leave great gobs of acid, basilisk venom coated spears, highly unstable test staff, Dart O' Doom..."

* * *

Kastrix was beyond angry. Yes, it was amusing that the little Green had been put to sleep by a Veela. The Chinese bint getting shot in the eye and trampling half her eggs was sad, but she should have known better. When the little two legs shoot lights at your eyes you** dodge**. The fact that the Short-snout got distracted by a dog was funny. She was never, _ever_ going to live that down if Kastrix had anything to do with it.

But now it was her turn to jump through hoops for the amusement of these Gaia-forsaken two-legs. Well she would show them, hopefully hers would make a half decent snack, regardless of the fact that she found two legs a little – She let loose a roar. This one's magical aura was unbelievable, she crouched low over her eggs, and sniffed the air as he started speaking softly to himself.

She shook her head a few times after hearing the first half a dozen items. It was a litany of pain and harm! This little two-leg could very well kill her! She started thinking quickly, still sniffing at the air. Humans could not understand them, and he smelled of paranoia and preemptive violence... and just a whiff of... reptile-speaker? Oh joyous day, she would live long enough to see her hatchlings come into the world!

* * *

"... Greek Fire, plain old vanilla dynamite..."

He was interrupted in his inventory by the dragon making a noise that closely resembled the joyful crowing of someone who had just hit the jackpot... except it was a dragon making the sound.

He looked up from his bag to see what could only be described as a dragon smiling. He vaguely heard Bagman making an ass out of himself trying to comment on whatever the hell it was that was going on. Harry looked back down at the bag and then slapped himself in the forehead with the palm of one of his hands.

He had been planning wholesale slaughter without even ruling out the simplest solution.

* * *

She was gonna live, she was gonna live... She was also damn glad that that particular talent extended to being able to communicate with almost all reptiles. She opened her mouth and hissed out the words, ~Human I have a...~ And was interrupted by the false golden egg flying out of her nest.

* * *

Harry caught the egg to the complete and utter silence of every last being in the Stadium. He just stared down at his prize for a moment, completely dumbstruck himself that every last single person involved had forgotten to charm these damn things to resist the summoning charm. And then it hit him that the dragon had started speaking Parseltongue when he summoned the egg, he looked up to see...

* * *

Kastrix stared at the little two leg for a few moments, then stared at the egg in his hand, she then looked at the crowd before turning to examine her nest. She repeated this a few times, trying to wrap her mind around the shear idiocy on display here when she heard...

* * *

~What is it that you wished to say?~

~I was going to offer to hand the false egg over to you in exchange for not slaying me, but that is now a moot point, I do however have just one observation I would like to make known.~

~Yes, O Great and Fiery One?~

~There is no need to be ridiculous, human. Even if the title is quite flattering.~

~Sorry, I am just finding this all greatly amusing. I never thought to try and speak Parseltongue to a dragon.~

~Yes, yes. You probably assumed that only the ones that slither on the ground speak in hisses. It is actually the language for all reptiles, but I digress. As I was saying, I have observed that we are surrounded by idiots. Complete and utter idiots. Now if you would kindly explain to the red-headed servant that I want three large cows in return for this disaster, or I shall eat a few of his co-workers.~

~I'll go do that... Have a good day, and I wish you and your hatchlings the best.~

* * *

Harry walked off the pitch idly considering taking up a field of employment involving dragons when he graduated. That is if he lived that long. Being able to speak to one's charges when no one else could communicate with them would be a great boon to the work... He finally started listening to whatever it was Bagman was prattling on about, he idly noted that the man had been repeating himself a few times since he had gotten the egg.

"And our youngest champion gets his egg in the shortest time, and he didn't even have to move too far from the entrance of the arena!"

Harry pointed at his throat for a moment, muttered a quick _sonorus_, and said, "I feel like I just stole candy from an mentally challenged baby. Can whoever is in charge of the next task please close up any glaring holes in your plans? Now can we get the scoring on with, I feel the need to scrub a few layers of skin for the shameless stunt I just pulled."

He countered the spell as he walked back into the door he had entered from. He saw Professor McGonagall waiting for him.

"Hello ma'am."

She just stared at Harry for a moment, seeming to look right through the young man. He remembered the last time she had given him this much scrutiny. Malfoy and Ronald were still occasionally humming verses of 'I'm Henry the Eighth, I am'. Her gaze was starting to make him nervous...

She then... smiled? She was smiling at him... How absolutely bizarre.

"Well Mr. Potter, originally I was supposed to take you to the medical tent to get whatever damage you picked up healed, but apparently you are the only one to come away completely unharmed."

Harry gave his Head of House a clearly questioning look.

"Oh, all the other champions are perfectly fine, or will be in a day or two. Mr. Diggory has some second degree burns, Ms. Delacour suffered a few extremely minor burns, and Mr. Krum got some contusions when he made off with his egg."

Harry followed her up to a section of the stands in clear view of the judges box, who were apparently arguing. "What were their scores?"

"Mr. Diggory was arguably the worst, though it was a wonderful bit of transfiguration in my own opinion, under the circumstances. He was hurt the worst and had the slowest time. The judges awarded him thirty-nine points out of sixty. Ms. Delacour and Mr. Krum came out fairly even. Both suffered minor injuries, but had completely separate ways of completing the task. Ms. Delacour favored a slower and surer approach, putting her dragon into an enchanted sleep, and the only reason she was hurt as badly as she was was because the Welsh Green snored. She was awarded forty-eight points. Mr. Krum however preferred a swift and violent approach, so he cast a conjunctivitis curse at the Fireball's eye, rushed in and grabbed his egg while the dragon thrashed about in pain. A good many of the real eggs were trampled while the dragon handlers attempted to get her under control. He was awarded forty-five points for the task."

"Thank you Professor."

He looked off toward the judges who finally settled their dispute. Professor Dumbledore was the first to give his judging, and he pointed his wand into the air, and the number ten formed from a silver ribbon that appeared. Madame Maxime was next, and she also gave Harry a ten. The last Head, Professor Karkaroff, who was being glared at by who Harry could only assume was representative from the German Ministry. He rather sullenly threw up an eight into the air. The aforementioned German gave Harry a nine, while the French representative gave him another ten. Finally Crouch as the last judge gave Harry one more ten.

Harry blinked in surprise. He was far into the lead. Fifty-seven points. Damn. "I'm surprised they didn't dock points for lip."

"So am I. But then again, considering how criminally easy you got off, I think you were allowed. Just what is in that bag Mr. Potter, I could have sworn the dragon was worried when she heard you muttering."

Harry grinned one of the cockiest grins to yet cross his face. "She was."

* * *

Harry found himself being dragged off a short while later by Fred and George to see one of the other brothers, Charlie. While they had met at the World Cup, the twins said that the dragon handler wanted to talk to him. What Harry wanted to know was why is it everyone who was a fan of the Gryffindor Quidditch team felt the need to compare him to this particular Weasley.

"I must say, Harry, you got off easily. That Horntail is one of the nastier dragons that we have on our reserve. For some reason, the Ministry wanted us to bring the alpha female of our Horntail flight, and there was no talking them out of it."

"Yeah, well she considers you dragon handlers as servants, and told me that she better get a trio of live cows, and soon, or she is going to start eating your coworkers for this insult."

The second eldest Weasley rushed off to start talking to the other handlers. Most of his coworkers had families.

* * *

As the champions were gathered back together in the tent to receive their instructions for the next task, Harry idly wondered how much more difficult they would make the next one just to make up for the disappointment caused by this screw up.

Crouch walked into the tent, and stood before the four contestants and cleared his throat.

"You have all successfully collected your golden eggs. Congratulations. That will be a vital clue for your fifth task, which will take place some time in February. Now as for the second task, it shall take place on Saturday, the twenty-second of October. It will be a test of how quickly you can move and think on your feet. Good luck preparing for the next task."

* * *

**A/N2: Still haven't gotten any new work on the next chapter done, Wednesday was another long day. **

**[Posting Time Stamp: 22 November, 2012]  
**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 38 and 39 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.  
As of 3:20 PM, 27 November, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 38:**  
**Word Count: 4,579 | Character Count: 24,594 | Hits: 40,133 | Reviews: 73**

**Chapter 39:**  
**Word Count: 7,311 | Character Count: 39,571 | Hits: 47,535 | Reviews: 120**

**Totals:**  
**Word Count: 11,890 | Character Count: 64,165 | Hits: 87,668 | Reviews: 193**

**New Total Word Count: 12,327 | New Total Character Count: 66,591**


	16. Another Task and the First Ball

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

* * *

**A/N: ****As always, my thanks goes out to those who are kind enough to review. Thank you.**

**I am not feeling very well and slept most of yesterday away. Hence the late chapter. Next chapter is still coming tomorrow.**

* * *

Chapter 16: Another Task and the First Ball

It was dinner following the first task, and Harry found himself having to glare at more people than usual. A good number of them were making no secret that they wanted to talk to him about the task as they passed the table he was sitting at. The aforementioned glare usually kept them walking, as he wasn't feeling particularly social at the moment, though he was still seated with most of his friends in addition to some acquaintances, and the sole topic of the conversation going on around him was of course the First Task.

There were many thoughts flitting through his head, one of the most inconsequential of which was if he should name his bag of tricks. Maybe Duffel of Destruction? Or perhaps Rucksack of Ruination?'

'Bah, I'll deal with it later,' he thought, idly poking the golden egg, which a great many thoughts of consequence were focused on, with his wand while he stared at it, his glasses laying on the table allowing his Mage sight to go full blast.

'Looks like spells similar to those I've used to prevent some of my stuff from being damaged, but it's all worked around... something I don't quite recognize. Maybe I should open it?'

Shrugging, and suiting actions to thoughts, Harry pried the egg open only to be met by a wailing shriek, which ended the conversations of everyone at the table, whose occupants included Hermione, Neville, Ivan, and a few other of the fourth year Lions. Everyone within a half a dozen meters, save Harry, clapped their hands over their ears and started yelling at him to close it.

Harry however, only tilted his head to the side and looked at the egg for a half a minute before gently closing it. A number of students sitting at nearby tables were shooting him various looks, a few of curiosity, while most others were rather mean, and Hermione had finally gathered herself back together enough to say, "Why didn't you close it more quickly?"

"Because I thought it was familiar sounding."

Neville got a confused look on his face and asked, "Doesn't all shrieking sound the same?"

"If it was only shrieking, you'd be right, but it isn't. I just got some good news, bad news, and found out that I probably need to get my hands on something."

Harry then shut up and went back to eating, rather purposefully allowing tension to build. His friends stared at him for a few minutes, wondering when he was going to pick the conversation back up, and he started internally chuckling. Finally Ivan said, realizing that Harry was trying to be dramatic, "Well what's the bad news?"

"I don't happen to speak or understand the language that is being spoken by the recording in the egg."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry's bad attempt at theatrics and asked, "And the good?"

"Aside from troll, it is the easiest language in the world to translate."

Neville cocked an eyebrow and then said, "Well what is it you are going to need to get?"

"Gillyweed."

* * *

Fleur had finally gotten tired of wondering where the hell Harry had been wandering off to whenever he wasn't in class, in the library, or in the Gryffindor Tower, a list that had two places where she couldn't follow him. Her curiosity was killing her, so she had finally asked one of Harry's close friends, the girl named Hermione, about his whereabouts. She had been fairly evasive, mentioning that he spent a lot of time in various parts of the castle doing gods know what. but she did let slip that he seemed to be focused on a particular section of the North Wing this year.

So, on the weekend a week after the first task, Fleur Delacour was following the Boy-Who-Lived to an upper floor of said wing. She wasn't entirely sure why the hell she was so curious about what he was up to, though part of her whispered that she wanted to see him work out like he did in the basement (and what a basement it was) of the Manor. Part of her argued that he was three years younger than her and that she really shouldn't be leering at him like that. The whisper argued back with two points, one that even if he was fourteen, he still looked damn good when he was sweaty, and two, given the generalized lifespans of humans and near-humans, three years meant absolutely nothing.

She was fairly certain that the voice was a part of her Veela nature, the part of her that was more magic than mundane, and was far more instinctual. She though that it had recognized a good mate, and she also had to be honest with her self that he might make a good boyfriend, his issues aside.

She was also fairly certain that he knew she was following him. He'd never gotten surprised by anything magical during the summer, though there were a few pranks the Marauders had performed with either mechanical or chemical triggers that had gotten Harry. So she continued following him from a distance, though a consecutive set of doors, before she heard, close to her left, "Hey Fleur."

She smiled and turned toward him. Then again, no person had managed to sneak up on _her_ for years. Being able to both see and feel auras was useful in so many ways.

Harry started up with some small talk as he led her to wherever it was that he was heading to, she took the time to once more scrutinize how his aura felt. It was such a jumbled tumult of traits, a quick quiet intelligence, a mountain of stubborn strength, a slowly fading bone deep loneliness, a sharp wry wit, a smidgen of gentle kindness, a fiery hair trigger temper, something like emotional control or disassociation, and a few other things that were harder to describe.

As for how it appeared to her eyes, the outer colors of it, those speaking of his current emotional state, appeared muted, as though any emotion felt was done so distantly. The inner colors were a patchwork of the colors that were connected to the traits she had felt earlier.

She had barely been paying attention to the conversation until he asked, "So, was there any particular reason you were following me?"

"I was curious as to what part of the castle you disappeared to so often."

"I need a place where I can practice where people aren't looking over my shoulder. The top floor of the North Wing is one of the most deserted parts of the castle."

"So what is it that you are going to be doing?"

"Currently, spell avoidance, deflection, and shielding."

"I really, really hope that none of the tasks include formal duels. I have a feeling that you will be an absolute beast to fight."

They finally stopped walking, and were in a very circular room with a number of training dummies, trunks, and even a rack or two of melee weapons by the walls. The was a black line in the shape of a circle painted on the floor a yard and a half from the wall, and various other circles were inscribed on the floor every yard within the black circle, with a solid gold circle in the center.

Harry turned to Fleur and asked, "Do you want to watch?"

She simply grinned at him while nodding, and leaned against the wall near the door.

Chuckling and shaking his head, he said, "Just stay on that side of the black line," as he opened one of the trunks and pulled out six spheres that looked to be made out of some crystal, possibly quartz, the size of lemons. Holding three in each hand, he walked to the gold circle, muttering under his breath in pseudo-Latin. Ending with a sharp command, he let go of the spheres, and they hung in midair.

Kneeling down, he laid his palm flat on the circle, he started muttering again, this time in Gaelic. There was no obvious end to this, instead he just continued on until there was a crack and sizzle as the boundary barrier came up. As he stood, the six spheres had been floating about, and now the floated at various heights, from just about level with his shins to nearing the roof of the room, anywhere from two to eight feet away from Harry, surrounding him.

Taking a deep breath he said, "Begin," and immediately moved toward his left as the spheres started firing various colored lights at the last Potter. The pace started slowly, the spells both being relatively inaccurate and the rate of fire slow, and after a minute or so of simply staying on the move, he had to actively begin dodging, changing direction rapidly and sometimes even tumbling. It eventually sped up to the point that no matter what he did he was getting tagged by every third or so 'spell'.

When it reached the point that he was being hit by every other blast of the modified paintball spell, he drew his wand in his right hand and twitched his left hand, running a spell through his shield ring.

He'd discovered something quite interesting about his shield focus. Rather than having a singular core like a good majority of foci, it had multiple separate strands of twilight diamond as the core material. The thing about that particular gem core is that even in small amounts it could efficiently channel large amounts of magic, especially when paired with Oriculum, which it was.

Unlike his wand, which had a compound core that could only do as much at the same time as any other wand, even if it could theoretically handle ungodly amounts of power, his ring could handle quite a few separate spells at one time, if he only had the concentration to make it work. While he wouldn't need to use that function of the ring yet, but he needed practice with it. Besides, running all the cores on a single shield spell often made for some rather spectacular results.

As he felt the Duelist's Shield settle around his left arm from the elbow down with a slight buzz against his skin, Harry started using both it and his wand to deflect the incoming spells. At this point the tempo of the incoming spellfire underwent a noticeable shift. Rather than a constant measured stream of magic, it now came in fits and bursts, forcing him to work on his reaction time... of course he still had a few other tricks up his sleeve.

* * *

Of course this exercise ended just the same as the other times he had done it.

With Harry nearly concussing himself by ramming into the barrier surrounding the practice area and then proceeding to fall onto his back as his head swam. The floor had also been torn up by whatever the hell it was that he did. The spheres stopped firing as soon as Harry was struck by thirty splats of paint in a row, which is what usually occurred as he lay on the floor, looking up at the fuzzy lights that the head trauma brought on.

Fleur was clutching her stomach, and trying to reign in her laughter. She knew she should be at least a little concerned about the fact that her friend had probably just hurt himself, but it was like watching that funny cartoon coyote run headlong into the tunnel he had painted on the cliff side. Of course, whatever transportation magic that Harry had used was where the similarities ended.

From the floor, Harry yelled out, "Dobby! One headache relief potion, if you please!", before levering himself into a sitting position.

The elf popped in and handed Harry a flask, which he quickly downed. The little being then asked, "Still being having problems with the Step of Ghosts, Master Harry sir?"

Completely forgetting about his company, Harry held his head in his hands and replied, "It's Ghost Step, Dobby, and I think the answer to your question would be self evident. I just don't have the room here to practice it..."

Fleur finally managed to gather herself together following her laughing fit, and walked over to Harry, asking, "Just what is this 'Ghost Step', and why did make you run headlong into the barrier you put up?"

"The Ghost Step is a bit of transportation magic I dug up from the Potter Library. The original source was supposedly an old scroll that came from a clan of magical ninja in Japan. It allows for rapid movement in a straight line, and will move through most minor obstacles, like weak to moderate curses or anything with less mass than five kilograms, with no effect, but upon encountering more solid things, like walls, trees, and barriers... Well, you saw the result. The problem is I haven't gotten it to anything less than a hundred meters, and I need to be moving at a good pace to begin with. Though I will know I am doing it right when I stop tearing up the ground when I use it."

"And that, other type of movement you were doing beforehand?"

He grinned cheekily, and said, "I can explain it for you, I just don't know if anyone else is capable of doing it..."

* * *

That evening, he sat down on a sofa in the Gryffindor common room near Luna. Taking a minute to string his thoughts back together after his long day, Harry said, "Is there anything you need help with Luna?"

Smiling softly, Luna replied "The nargles are staying far enough away, and it is early enough in the term, that I am on top of my assignments. Besides which, you need your rest and with all the help from the last two years, I think I can manage without burdening you."

Leaning back into the sofa, Harry said, "That's fine, but if you need help, ask. You'd never be a burden Luna."

* * *

When Harry was having an early breakfast the next morning, an owl landed next to him and proffered the letter attached to its leg. Offering it some bacon with one hand while removing the letter with the other, he said, "Thanks Lucky, I don't think I'll have a reply anytime soon. You can rest up in the Owlery before heading back to Gringotts if you want to."

Tearing open the letter, pulling out one piece of paper that was all by its lonesome and a set of four or five stapled together, he read the missive from Griphook... He then read it again, a blank look crossing his face. He read it a third time while reaching into the envelope and taking out the one thing he missed, a Chocolate Frog Card.

He then stared down at the card for a good minute or two before he yelled out the first thing that came into his mind, "Bloody hell! There's a Chocolate Frog Card of me!"

He then sunk back into his dazed and confused state for five or so minutes, ignoring everyone who was staring at him.

After finally snapping out of his stupor, he gathered up everything and quickly made his way out of the Great Hall, muttering to himself, "Goddamn fame. I don't want a second Card... What to do, what to do..."

* * *

Harry stayed after following his Transfiguration class on Tuesday, he needed to talk to his Head of House about something.

"What is it that you want to speak to me about, Mr. Potter?"

"Is there any chance that I could get you to set up a comprehensive test for everything that would be covered in your class this year, Professor McGonagall?"

The Deputy Headmistress stared at Harry for a few moments before she replied, "I assume you are trying to scrape together more time to get prepared for the Tournament?"

"Yes, ma'am. I also plan on asking Professors Flitwick, Vector, Sinistra, Babbling, Lupin, Moody, and maybe Snape. I just have to figure how to put it so that it comes out as being best for him..."

The professor blinked owlishly a few times before asking, "Wouldn't that would leave you only taking Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And why have you waited until more than a week **after** the first task?"

"I was paranoid as hell about the news of the upcoming Tournament, and was half prepared already in the event that I was press-ganged into it. And I was. But now I'd like a little more breathing room."

"I am going to have to insist that you continue to take at least four classes, Mr. Potter."

He sighed and nodded, before saying, "Then never mind about the test I'm asking you for. I'll continue to take Charms and Transfiguration along with the other two."

Over the next few days, he begged and pleaded his way through setting up tests for himself, he even managed to get a list of two dozen potions Professor Snape wanted him to brew in addition to a written exam, though Harry did angle it by saying that the Professor wouldn't have to see Harry in the classroom for the rest of the year if he allowed it.

He also took the time to enlarge one of the rooms near his time compression chamber... and layer a couple dozen cushioning charms on the walls of the aforementioned room. He was going to get the Ghost Step down even if he gave himself a gross of concussions doing it.

* * *

As time passed and the second task grew closer, the focus of Harry's work for the tournament shifted from the large scale combat he had been in the process of preparing, to movement and demolition, though that wasn't all he was working on. From the hint that Crouch dropped when saying when the event was, Harry was guessing that it was going to be some manner of obstacle course.

And now he was definitely leaning towards naming his bag the Duffel of Destruction.

He managed to get all of his tests taken by the fourteenth, and so had managed to massively cut down the time he spent in class. The professors wouldn't be telling him how well he did until the end of the year, but he had been excused from each class he had taken a test for... with the exception of potions, though Snape had excused him from class after Harry had handed in the first three potions on the list he had been given.

There was also the fact that a large section of the castle grounds on the south side had been hidden from view by massive canvas walls. You didn't need three chances to guess where the next task was going to take place. And they were making massive glass walls in the Quidditch Stadium... That confused Harry for a little while, until he thought that they were possibly making the magical version of a jumbotron.

* * *

The morning of October the twenty-second, Harry threaded his way through the Great Hall to the table his friends were sitting at. He was weaving his way through the hustle and bustle with a graceful ease, even though people were staring at him.

Though he was probably unaware of the staring because he had a thick black length of cloth wrapped around his eyes. It could have also been the reason why people were staring.

Dropping himself into a seat next to Fleur at the table his friends were sitting at, who had also been joined by Victor and a friend of his, along with Cedric and another 'Puff, he said, "Good morning everyone."

Everyone simply stared at Harry for a moment before Ivan gathered himself enough to ask, "Why in the seven hells are you wearing a blindfold Harry?"

Directing what would be his gaze (if his eyes weren't covered) at Ivan's face, he said, "Because I can," before he shifted the blindfold enough to uncover one eye, and he started pulling food to himself.

Once more he struck everyone silent, and he just grinned and started eating. Deciding to freak them out even more, he tapped a little more deeply into his magic, and looked up from his food. Everyone at the table reacted slightly when his visible eye was glowing an electric green. Some paled, a few blinked owlishly, and one jaw dropped. Luna kept eating her kippers and eggs.

He just couldn't help himself. He started laughing.

* * *

Apparently they would all be running this task at the same time. He sighed to himself as he listened to Bagman once more take up announcing duties, again hamming it up. Taking a moment and 'looking' at the silver sphere that was floating near him, he studied the magics that were bound to it. He then threw up the horns gesture he had seen some heavy metal artists do on the telly.

Besides, it is always unnerving when someone who supposedly can't see stares directly into the 'camera'.

He heard Fleur sigh in the area to his left. He could 'feel' four boxes marked out on the ground, and he had taken one on the far right when facing the canvas wall. She then asked, "Do you have to be so... so... I have no clue how to phrase just what you are!"

Turning to look her dead in the face, he said, "What I am is showboating. The Chocolate Frog Card People want to do a Triwizard Champions series for restarting of the Tournament, and since I really don't feel like posing for any pictures, I told them to send someone with a camera and a telephoto lens to the second task. I am going to donate the money I get to St. Mungo's. Though I'm keeping the card they send me."

"So you are going to make us other champions look as bad as possible just to get out of a photo shoot?"

He smirked as he concentrated on his hair, shortening it and then making the red streaks in it glow, "Hell yes. And how the hell does Bagman say so much without saying anything?"

"I don't know. There is something I haven't thought to ask yet, but why red streaks in your hair? I know that when the wandmaker cast that spell to force you into your base form, your hair was all black... House pride?"

"My mother was a redhead."

"Ahh."

"Now hush, the windbag is almost finished."

And as the aforementioned man was finally getting to the point, "... and so, today's task will be an obstacle course that will test how quick our champions feet are, and how quickly they think on them! And the task will begin in five... four... three... two..."

With a deafening bang, a sudden cut off of their ability to hear the commentary, the canvas wall shimmered out of existence, and behind it was revealed...

"Hey guys," Harry said, "That's a hundred foot tall rock wall, right?"

Cedric brought the palm of one hand to his forehead, Viktor glared at Harry, and Fleur told him to go do some very rude things in French. Harry just grinned at them and flicked out his left hand casting a wandless summoning charm. "Shouldn't you three get climbing?"

Fleur and Cedric joined Krum in glaring at the Boy-Who-Lived. "You three do know that glares don't really affect those who can't see them?"

Shaking her head, Fleur made her way to the wall, casting a Feather-light charm on herself. Cedric and Krum shared a look, before the former started transfiguring a spiral staircase from the artificial cliff face while the latter started conjuring a lot of rope.

Harry grinned, and snatched the speeding bundle out of the air as it approached him. He'd made some alterations to his bag, now it was about a foot and a half long, four inches wide, and six inches deep, and there was a sword sheath that was attached to it, and the bag itself was a hell of a lot bigger on the inside. If the size of the sheath was any indication of the blade it held, it would only as be long as a very large knife or an extremely short sword. He pulled his shield ring off of the cord he had tied it to and slipped it on his left hand.

Placing it against the area of the black robe/trench coat he was wearing so that the sheath was parallel to the ground, and so that the two components to a binary sticking charm met. He had decided to forgo armor in place of this piece of clothing, just because of a little something he had included when he was playing around with runic arrays and wind spells...

Nodding to himself, checking over a field of energy he had been building around himself since he had gotten a peek behind the canvas wall with his magical sense, he took a deep breath while running his fingers over the activation trigger for the 'special effect' array he had.

If only he could figure out how the hell to push or pull against the air and he would actually be able to fly instead of having to settle for its bastard stepson. One line of focus would maintain the magical field around his body so that he wouldn't end up hurting himself like he did when he first tried moving himself with his telekinetic magic, another would control his movement along the z-axis, ensuring he didn't drive himself into the ground, a third would control his actual movement along the xy plane, while one final thought process would control what direction he was facing.

He just grinned as he floated half a foot off the ground, the runic array making his clothes and hair look like they were caught in a high wind.

* * *

In the Quidditch stadium, the massive crowd was struck silent as Harry Potter achieved what looked like the dream of many wizards.

Broom-less flight.

Finally Professor Severus Snape broke the silence.

"**Potter!** Fifty points from Gryffindor for showing off!"

* * *

Harry vaguely thought he heard a greasy haired git yell something, but he shrugged, chalking it up to his imagination. He tilted his head up and 'looked' toward the top of the cliff. Rolling his head, he quickly shot upward until he was level with Fleur, she was managing the climb quite quickly, already a third of the way up, and still going strong.

"Hi Fleur."

She glared at him for a moment before she said, "I hate you."

"Hey, I injured myself a number of times learning how to do this, and even when there were no actual injuries there was still quite a bit of pain. Where other Metamorphs have a tendency to heal more quickly than normal witches and wizards, I having something that may very well be regeneration, though I don't really feel like losing any body parts to test that theory."

"You are still one of my least liked people at this moment Harry."

He just smirked at her and said, "Well, I'll see you at the finish line. Give the other two what for for me."

As he shot off toward the top, she slipped into her native tongue and called him many unflattering names.

At the top of the wall, he moved as though he was stepping forward, act as if he had just taken an elevator to the top of the wall. At the top there was a space about twenty feet across and as wide as the wall itself was, before there was a gap about fifty feet wide, with four ropes spanning it each near where a champion would come up after the climb. He could tell that it was only a drop of about ten feet... He snorted. He could easily hold himself a good twenty five feet off the ground if there were no walls, trees, or other solid surfaces to anchor himself off of. He took two steps forward before going back into a hover and then 'flew' off at a sedate pace using the rope in front of him as a guide, not even feeling rushed about the fact that he was supposedly racing against the three other champions.

At the far end of the gap was another space the same size of the first, before a sudden drop off. Pinging his senses he felt like it went down a hundred feet back to the ground ending in a ten foot deep pool of water that was charmed in some way. Probably so that anyone who falls isn't hurt too badly. The drop in the gap was glowing with cushioning charms, and there were a few officials at the start who would probably catch anyone who drops from the climb.

He sighed and started to lower himself from the top of this wall.

* * *

Fleur pulled herself to the top of the wall and didn't bother to stand up yet, laying on her back catching her breath. Even if he had explained to her just why he couldn't actually fly, she was still more than a little upset that he had this part of the task so damn easy.

Growling to herself, she got to her feet, and then looked back down at the starting area. Cedric's staircase was about halfway up the cliff face, and Krum had apparently just finished putting together a rope ladder that he would then have to find a way to secure to the top. She then stared at the ropes suspended across the gap. She rolled her eyes, cast a charm on herself that would drastically improve her balance for a little bit, and then cast a second one on the rope that would give her a larger surface area to walk on.

She then started to carefully walk along what was now, more or less, a tightrope.

* * *

Reaching the bottom of the wall, Harry floated along toward whatever lay next along the course. He could sense bits of the outside wall of a building, but there were... gaps, where he couldn't sense anything. Which was as odd as hell. Even out in non-magical London there was still enough errant magic in the air that he could still feel it.

But here, under the millennium old wards and over a confluence of lay lines, nothing?

He muttered under his breath, "An anti-magic field..."

He stretched his senses out as he got closer, determining that it there were four spherical 'bubbles', each just barely large enough to contain the door into the building. Dropping back to the ground, he tried to get a judge for how thick the wall was, and how much of a load it bore.

He was not bringing his precious Duffel of Destruction through an anti-magic field. He moved to the left of where his door was, drew his wand for the first time in the task, and simply transfigured a section of the wall into a doorway of his own.

* * *

The French Ministry judge was banging his head against the table the panel was sat at in the stadium, repeating, {Stupid, stupid, stupid...}

Madam Maxime at least asked, "Why did he avoid the real door?"

The German Ministry judge said, "He'd navigated the course perfectly while blindfolded, he probably has some secondary means of being aware of his surroundings, maybe he sense the anti-magic fields around the doors, and didn't want to risk whatever was in that bag of his."

Dumbledore had been thinking something along the same lines, and was silently happy to get a second opinion on the matter. Maybe the ability to sense magic was 'the power he knows not'?

No. Tom was probably was well aware of the ability, and more than likely coveted it if he didn't already possess it.

* * *

Moving along to the first interior chamber, he was aware of the next door, which was actually a double door, which were a good foot thick, and made of some rather dense materials... He'd have an easier time trying to blast through the wall than the door... and he didn't want to pull the trick of transfiguring a door more than once...

It was just boring if he was going to do that, so he put his wand away.

But the hinges and the locking mechanism on the other hand...

He drew the sword from the sheath at his back. Hefting it for a moment, he looked it over with his senses. Everything seemed to be in proper order, even if this wasn't what he was what he wanted... yet. If he could ever get it to be what he wanted.

If he had been looking at it with his eyes, the blade would have resembled a Japanese katana, though the blade seemed to be made out of some kind of opaque white crystal, and was much thinner than it should have been. The hilt guard was made out of something that was a metallic green and the design on it was simply seven lines that ran from the outer part to the inner ring while curving slightly. The wrap on the handle was forest green.

Smirking, he launched himself at the door, flooding power into the blade as he held it in a two handed grip. It lit up light a Christmas tree to his magical senses. To those watching it started glowing with a soft white light.

Harry felt it was pretty damn impressive when it came to cutting things, but he was having trouble making a blade comprised solely of energy.

He'd only seen the Star Wars trilogy once when Moony had arranged for himself and Sirius to see it. Padfoot had been a fan of the first two movies, but had missed the third due to being a resident of Azkaban. He was going to make himself a lightsaber even if it took him the better part of a century to accomplish the feat. He just really hoped he figured it out next week instead.

He slid the blade between the two doors, obliterating the locking mechanism, before sliding to the right and launching himself into the air, dragging the blade through the exposed hinges on that side. Taking his left hand from the blade as he pushed him to the other side of the door, he made a pulling gesture with his recently freed hand, yanking the door toward where he been moments before. As he brought himself back to the ground, he broke the remaining hinges anyway, and pushed the second door away from him. The two doors crashed into the ground one after another.

* * *

Viktor reached the top of his rope ladder just Cedric came out of the end of his staircase. Cedric was looking like he needed to take a break after the rather large amount of transfiguration. They watched as Fleur gave them a little wave from where she stood on the platform opposite them, right before she jumped out of sight. Krum was already on the move, choosing to drop carefully into the pit, and running the length of it. Cedric pulled a knife from his boot, cut the rope that was within his 'lane' of the obstacle course, before doing the same.

* * *

As she dropped through the last 'pane' of the variant of the momentum arresting spell she had used, moving at little more than the downward speed of a small hop, Fleur fell into the water. She knew she had forgotten something important! As she swam to the far edge, she looked at the four rather large and forbidding closed black doors, and the open normal sized simple brown one that stood off to the left of what would have been Harry's lane.

Remembering that they had not been told that they had to stay in their own 'lanes' she ran toward the open door, a vicious smirk on her face...

* * *

Facing down a third door, Harry decided to reach into his Duffel for the first time, having already re-sheathed his sword, focusing on the object he wanted to pull out of it.

Letting loose something that sounded dangerously close to an insane giggle, Harry hefted the two and a half foot long metal object that would not have looked out of place as a prop for Zeus, the god of thunder. Yes, Harry Potter had made a large metal lightning bolt. Gripping it as one would a javelin, he tapped his fingers against a series of runes on it. After a moment it began to spark with electricity, the amount increasing until it looked like he was holding an actual bolt of lightning.

Of course it was all theatrics, and what he was really holding was simply a funny shaped javelin that gave off very realistic sparks. The reason for the giggle however was the fact that the head of the 'javelin' contained some very fun explosives.

He only had one spell in his arsenal that allowed him to harness anything close to lightning, and the fact of the matter was that a: he was not outside and therefore couldn't do it, and b: it hurt like a bitch to use in the first place.

Tossing his weapon at the latest door, he flicked his left hand out to raise a shield moments after it left his hand. He didn't want to get hit by debris.

* * *

As Fleur ran toward the open door, she stumbled as she heard an explosion from ahead of her. The fact that Harry had cleared the way for her (however unintentionally) had moved him back to the top four or five of her list of 'friends and friend-like people'.

She really hoped that he didn't blow himself to bits. She turned around and canceled the transfiguration he had done. That should slow the rest of the competition down.

* * *

Harry watched as the dust settled, waiting for... His head jerked back to stare in the direction he came from. He was not going to throw away his win by taking a sedate pace when Fleur was gaining on him. He gestured his left hand forming a protective dome in front of him, and threw himself forward, going from a standstill to a speed that would make Olympic sprinters jealous in a split second.

As he moved, he dug deeper into his magic, his eyes starting to glow beneath the blindfold while he reached forward with his telekinetic magics and tore the next set of double doors from the wall in an application of sheer brute force. Moments before he passed the space they had formerly occupied, the doors were thrown forward at high speed towards the fifth, followed closely by a high powered, wide area banisher from his wand to clear a path through the freshly created debris.

Still moving at a fast clip, he moved through the destruction and the four 'lanes' merged into one hallway ending in spiral staircase. Traversing this space at a speed which would be dangerous if not suicidal for anyone not capable of catching themselves from dangerous falls, he made his way to the top quickly and came out into something that closely resembled the parapet at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

He heard Bagman announce, "And Harry Potter finishes the course in first place!", before he was plunged back into silence. Shrugging, he put his his feet back against the wall, then sat down, his back against one of the crenelations of the top of whatever tower this was. Who knew how long the other three were going to take.

So he reached into the bag and pulled out one of his Rubik's Cubes and started toying around with it.

* * *

Fleur ran through the path Harry had made through the doors, jumping over the doors he had cut from their fittings, blasted apart, through the hole where one used to be, and then through the destruction of the last door. She moved quickly to the stairs, and then hurried upward.

* * *

As the door opened, and before Bagman's announcement of second place, Harry asked without looking up from his puzzle, "Still angry at me, even after I left a trail for you that a concussed troll could follow?"

As she stepped onto the parapet, she glared at him while ignoring Bagman's shouting, before replying,"You did that on purpose?"

A cheeky grin was all the answer she got, so she gave a huff, and then Harry said, "They really need to start being more specific about the rules. I could have just made more doors, and reverted the transfigurations when I was done."

Rolling her eyes at the Boy-Who-Lived, she walked over to him and sat next to him, "So how long do you think that we'll end up waiting for Cedric and Victor?"

"Depends on whether or not Heckle and Jeckle figure out what you did..."

* * *

The task eventually ended, though Cedric and Krum both took the 'long way', Cedric coming in third and Viktor in a distant fourth. The scores followed shortly after, with Harry receiving a fifty-five, with all but one of the judges giving him tens, while Karkaroff gave him a five for 'being an insolent showoff'. Fleur received a forty-nine, getting nines and eights from all the judges save, again, Karkaroff, who also gave her a five, saying 'she should have run her own course'. Cedric was given five sevens and a five, having 'run the course in the way it was designed to be beaten with great efficiency'. And Viktor, having come in last by a large margin was given twenty-six points.

Harry was leading in the points category, fifteen points ahead of the person closest behind him, Fleur, who as in second with ninety-seven points. There was a slightly larger gap between second and Cedric at third, who had seventy-nine points. There was only a difference of eight points between Cedric and Viktor, who was currently bring up the rear.

Just before they were dismissed, Karkaroff said, "During the task next month, you shall face despair under the noonday sun before confronting your greatest fears under the dark of the moon. Prepare yourselves."

Harry slapped his forehead with an open palm at the details of the time of second challenge of the task. It was a fairly obvious hint that the Third Task would be taking place within a few days of the Third of November, which was when the new moon was in the sky.

* * *

At breakfast the morning following the second task, Dumbledore stood after the majority of the students had finished eating and made an announcement.

"First off I would like to congratulate our four champions on their performances so far," he paused for the applause (what little there was, there was a lot of partying last night), "and am pleased to announce that the first of this tournament's three balls will be taking place on Halloween. And in theme with some of the more interesting history of the holiday, it shall be a costume ball. As will be standard for all of the balls, only those in fourth year or above are allowed to attend, unless they are otherwise invited by a student who is in the proper year."

This of course was met with first shock, and then panic as the fact that the ball was around a week away sunk in.

At a table in the middle of the Hall, the four champions shared glances at each other. Fleur shivered and muttered in French about someone walking over her grave. Cedric smirked, he had mentioned more than once about how he and the Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang were dating. Viktor's eyes went wide and he started muttering distractedly in Bulgarian about fangirls and annoying little brothers. Ivan started laughing his ass off at his brother's reaction, before he realized he needed a date and he then started staring about looking at before rushing off to corner a girl or two.

Harry just watched everything around him with mild amusement before turning back to his food. Even if it didn't look like he'd been all that hard-pressed to pull off an easy with yesterday, it was still something that he didn't want to do all that often. He was famished.

Looking up, not bothered in the slightest by sudden news, he said, "We still on for poker tonight?"

* * *

"Check."

"Raise ten knuts."

"I will call your ten and raise another ten.."

An inexpressive grunt followed by a surly, "Fold."

Harry scowled down at his cards, shuffling them about, before saying, "Call."

Cedric smirked, said, "Call," and showed his cards.

A full house, queens over tens. Fleur grumbled as she tossed her cards onto the table and Harry just shrugged as he did the same before gathering up the cards and starting to shuffle them, smiling.

Viktor said, following a sip from a bottle of butterbeer, "You are awfully cheerful for someone who has yet to win a hand..."

Harry's answer was to grin even wider, and he said, "Bah, I say. You are only truly losing a game if you refuse to have fun. Besides, my luck is like a hyperactive squirrel on many many drugs. It's more likely to viciously maul you than it is to help," as he dealt out the cards for the next hand.

Cedric rolled his eyes and added, "There is also the fact that we are playing for knuts and both the Potters and the Blacks are among the richest families in British Magical World. So it is unlikely that this will harm his wallet... So, who has a date lined up for the Halloween ball?"

Krum again grunted and then said, "We all know you already have one. I too have a girlfriend in my school's population, so I don't need to worry... except about being pestered by some fans, and what antics Ivan is going to do when he finds out..."

Harry snickered and asked, "So how long have you managed to keep your relationship a secret from Ivan?"

"A year and a half... Goddamn this tournament and its Balls... So have you asked anyone yet Harry?"

"Nope," he began jovially with a smile on his face, "and I'm not planning on asking anyone... or going for that matter. It says nothing in the rules about having to go to any ball except for the 'traditional' Yule Ball, and I tend to be far less social on October 31st than any other day of the year," he finished darkly.

Talk around the table save that directly related to the game died for the next ten or so minutes, until the four champions decided to call it a night.

* * *

A few days later, Harry was sitting alone in what had become his workshop in the suite of rooms that could be time compressed, working with a yellow gemstone rod that was currently held in a vice grip, while he looked through a jeweler's loupe he wore on his head, using a long needle he had made into a focus for etching and carving magics to slowly work runes into it.

Not even looking up from his work, he said, "Hello Luna, Hermione and Neville. I was wondering when you two would get curious enough to track me here."

"Harry, do you know how creepy it is when you do that?"

"Hermione, if he wants to disturb people all he has to do is sic a herd of Long-Horned Hurmburgles on them. I think he was actually trying to pull off the whole 'all knowing super wizard' thing."

Blinking in a slightly bemused manner, Harry wondered why Hermione did not react like Hermione to his rearranging of a part of the school, though Luna's comment was par for the course for her. The closest thing he had to a little sister was a really odd duck sometimes.

He turned around and said, "I was wondering when any one of you three would track me down and see what I was up to..."

Neville sighed, and asked in a harried tone, "Well they were concerned for you, even though you have completely embarrassed all opposition in the first two tasks... So what are you doing, enchanting?"

A soft chuckle escaped Harry's lips as he said, "No, though I have a few things that I am working on that are enchanted items, it is not really my forte. It tends to be very hit or miss when I am making those kinds of things. If it directs, stores, or generates some kind of energy, I am getting better at making those kinds of enchanted objects.

"However, what I am really good at is what I am doing right now. Which is preparing various magical foci. This thing that I am working on is a bit of a secret, but," he paused as he reached under his shirt and pulled out a metal pendant out from under it. It was a simple hollow circle of silver with a pointed oval within it, with small gems where the two shapes met, and runes visible along the surface of it. "There is this."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and a pair of howler monkeys appeared on either side of him, one seeming to point and laugh at them while the other jumped up and down while screeching. After a few moments the screeching monkey launched itself at Neville, whose response was an attempt to draw his wand and stun it, though he was a little slow.

It didn't really matter much as the monkey passed right through the Longbottom heir. Luna giggled and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

"Ohh, I didn't know that you were working on illusions! Can you make a Crumpled Horned Snorkack?"

Hermione huffed at Luna's continued belief in animals that she had no proof that existed and pushed on, "What I wanted is to make sure that you are ready for the Ball on Halloween, Harry..."

"I am perfectly ready," he began.

Hermione cut in asking, "Who are you taking?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry pushed onward, "... in that I am not planning on attending the Ball in the first place. There's going to be a storm on Halloween, and I have a few plans involving the tallest tower and a few lightning rods," he started rubbing his hands together in a fiendish manner part way through the statement.

Neville blinked a few times before deciding that this was one of those times that times that trying to understand Harry before he had done whatever he was planning would only result in headaches, Hermione got a puzzled look on her face while her jaw did the 'fish out of water' imitation that always occurred when Harry said something that defied logic as she knew it, and Luna just smiled one of her dreamy little smiles.

* * *

Harry ducked into a secret passage and canceled the Disillusionment charm he had cast on himself. He was starting to become highly irritated by the stalkers and fangirls that hunted him. He had no clue who started the rumor, no matter how true it was, that he didn't have a date to the Halloween Ball, but if he ever found out the perpetrator's identity (or identities if there were more than one of those who the Sword of Damocles now hung over), they would envy the fate of Snivellus during the reign of the Marauders.

He made a mental note to slip Remus and Sirius a weak Truth Serum and see if one of them was behind this. Either of those reprobates who were the closest thing he had to actual Uncles (the walrus called Vernon never counted) were capable of it for their own amusement.

He flinched as he heard a noise that sounded vaguely like squee as the tapestry that hid the entrance to corridor was ripped aside. He used his illusion focus to create a massive burst of light as he reapplied his Disillusionment and ran for his life.

He was going to find out who the hell did this to him, and he was going to have blood! But now, he needed to flee in fear for his virtue.

* * *

Over in the Durmstrang quarters, a not so surly Bulgarian werewolf sneezed as the lid of pepper shaker he was using came off, giving him a nose full of the stuff.

|I wonder what Harry is doing right now... Ahh, what fun it is using fangirls as a weapon.|

He began giggling thinking of his next set of tricks, these aimed at his brother...

|Oh, much humiliation would be had. And it will be glorious!|

* * *

Harry also made a mental note to find out whose bright idea it was to remind the student bodies that there was a Ball only a little over a weekter. It was most amusing to watch the vast majority of the male population panic in a rush to find dates, but it had turned the girls who were trawling f laor dates into rabid monsters. He wasn't yet sure what he would do to the offender, whether good or bad...

"Likely it will be a little from both columns A and B..."

He dodged as a first year tried to nail him with a flying tackle. That was the seventh time someone had tried that! One had been a rather intimidatingly sized seventh year Hufflepuff girl who he was sure played Beater last year... and another had been Terry Boot.

He was starting to wonder if he should give the day up as a bad job and retreat to his lab.

* * *

Harry sat in his lab, going over his equipment for his experiment tonight. His proof of concept models had worked and not blown up in his face. Yes, the first half a dozen had sent shrapnel all over the place, but that was what blast barriers and kinetic shields were for, and now he was just waiting.

He sighed and started pacing once he had finished. He didn't want to do anything too energy intensive, just in case things go pear-shaped. He needed something to get his mind off what today was.

Thankfully classes had been canceled today, and he had taken this chance to avoid the last ditch efforts so many girls (and more than a few boys) were trying in their attempts to get the Boy-Who-Lived to take them to the Ball. Then an idea almost literally hit him between the eyes, after all the Dursleys had always locked him away whenever there was anything worth celebrating.

He scowled when he could almost hear Leon laughing, and Cheshire had no such compunctions and was actually literally rolling around on the floor giggling. Luckily Hedwig considered herself much too dignified to visibly find amusement at her wizard's misfortune and Isis rather detested fangirls for some reason.

Cocking an eyebrow, he shrugged and went looking for a full length mirror that he knew he had around here somewhere, he felt a little like indulging in the more, mundane, traditions of the holiday.

"Dobby! Would you please get me some treacle tart and Mars bars?"

* * *

At the ball that evening, Victor had dressed as a viking, and was accompanied by a pretty brunette from Durmstrang who dressed as a medieval tavern wench. Ivan, in costume as a samurai was eying them in a manner that made Viktor want to purchase the best wards for his girlfriend to prevent the pranks he could almost smell coming.

Fleur, who was dressed in imitation of Marilyn Monroe, and had deigned to allow the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, Roger Davies, who was attending in the guise of a medieval knight, to escort her to this Ball. She didn't mind that all he paid attention to was her, what she did mind was that the otherwise intelligent young man was now a drooling idiot. It completely killed any chance for conversation this evening.

Cedric, costumed as Zeus, the Greek god of the heavens, had arrived with his girlfriend Cho Chang, who had come as a nun. He knew that more than a few of his friends were preparing pointed comments about her choice of costume, but he didn't really care.

Neville and Hermione had come without dates, deciding to keep each other company. Neville was dressed as an 18th century British soldier and Hermione had come as the Cat-In-The-Hat.

Everyone, save for his three friends present and the other three champions, were wondering where Harry Potter was, if he was there in a costume that completely hid his identity, and who he had come with. The Headmaster didn't know where Harry was other than not at the Ball, and had sent McGonagall to collect the wayward Potter, as he still had a little speech to make... and it was a very nice one he had all planned out, one that would hopefully remind Harry of his duty to the Greater Good as the one who would oppose Voldemort, but now it was becoming clear that that message in it was going to be completely wasted.

Well, he wasn't going to waste his breath, and such a perfectly prepared speech, when it would not have the full effect. He would use it some other time. He would have to pass some rule so that attendance at the feast next Halloween was mandatory and use it then. He rose from his seat, and released a subtle pulse of magic that no one would notice but would still draw their attention to him.

The ceiling of the Great Hall lit up as it had many times this night as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky.

* * *

At the top of the tallest tower stood a figure swathed in robes blacker than midnight tattered along the edges, face obscured by large hood. A glass geodesic dome with an opening at the apex covered the top of the tower, keeping the person from getting soaked in the cold downpour, while a massive lightning rod rose into the sky.

As lightning bolt after lightning bolt struck the rod, the figure started to giggle, and then laugh outright. The mirth soon ran away from the laughing person, and it grew into a mad cackle.

Then the lightning rod gave a soft ding, and the robes shimmered out of view, revealing one Harry Potter dressed in a yellow raincoat and galoshes. Sighing, he used his telekinesis to open a compartment at the base of the rod and remove a violently glowing crystal. He floated it into a case at his feet, as another crystal, this one looking perfectly normal came out of the case, and inserted itself into the slot the other came out of.

Scratching his cheek he muttered, "Now, where was I... Oh yes!"

The ominous looking black robes reappeared around the last Potter and he started his insane laughter again... only to be interrupted as he sensed someone coming up the stairs of the tower. Sighing, the hood of the robes drew itself back, while the front of the robes shifted slightly, now resembling a monk's cowl when drawn back.

As the door opened, Harry chuckled darkly and asked, in an attempt at a Romanian drawl, "How may I help you this evening Professor McGonagall?"

"Why are you not at the Ball Mr. Potter, even if you are dressed for it?"

"Quite simple my dear Professor," Harry said amicably, "in the rules for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, attendance is only mandatory for the Yule Ball. I am not a very sociable person on the thirty-first of October, ergo I chose not go to the Ball."

McGonagall's eyebrow twitched, but that was the only change in her always stern face, then she let out a soft sigh, "Then why are you dressed in a costume Mr. Potter?"

"Mundane tradition. Kids dress in costumes, go door to door getting candy. The Dursleys always locked me up in my cupboard, so I decided to see what I have been missing all these years..."

She made a barely perceptible flinch at the mention of how his relatives had treated him, and how she had not opposed Dumbledore when he said it was all for the best. She swore inwardly, wondering how badly she had failed the child she had once bounced on her knee.

"And just what is it you are doing Mr. Potter?"

"Catching lightning."

The only indication of her surprise at his rather strange admission was to blink several times rapidly, and out of sheer curiosity, she asked, "Why?"

"Because, with either magic or technology, there is no way to generate anything that is remotely close to the sheer electrical power of a bolt of lightning. There is a large variety of shock spells, some of them quite volatile and destructive, but nothing like what nature produces.

"I had to get me some of that."

She narrowed her eyes at the young man, but given what circumstances he had been put in this year, she couldn't fault him for possibly wanting the ability to be able to throw around bolts of lighting. Considering the show he put on during the second task, she was actually surprised it wasn't him dressed as Zeus instead of Mr. Diggory.

McGonagall gave a thin smile and asked one last question, "And just what is you are dressed as Mr. Potter?"

The raven haired young man grinned as his costume shifted once more, the hood reforming over his head, his face becoming obscured by shadows. A wicked looking scythe shimmered into view, and a hand, now horrifyingly skeletal looking, grasped it and shifted the weapon so that it resting on his shoulders parallel to the floor.

And when he spoke it could only be described as a death rattle, "You were expecting maybe someone else?"

* * *

As the Professor left to let him go about his business, Harry paced back and forth for a few moments wondering where he was before he had been interrupted, and the spoke, "Oh yeah, I was cackling like a madman. Merlin, that is such a good form of stress relief. I need to do it more often."

Taking a few deep breaths he started up once more, "Muah ha ha ha..."

* * *

**A/N2: Heavy alterations are getting rarer and rarer. Last post of the rewrite is on Friday.**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 40 and 41 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 2:15 PM, 27 November, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 40:**

**Word Count: 6,814 | Character Count: 36,797 | Hits: 54,279 | Reviews: 123**

**Chapter 41:**

**Word Count: 3,203 | Character Count: 17,274 | Hits: 27,871 | Reviews: 70**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 10,017 | Character Count: 54,071 | Hits: 82,150 | Reviews: 193**

**New Total Word Count: 10,485 | New Total Character Count: 56,616**


	17. All You Fear

**Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this endeavor. **

**Also, I don't own "One way or Another", it is a single that was originally by the band, Blondie.**

**Nor do I own Full Metal Alchemist. Its creator is Hiromu Arakawa.**

* * *

**A/N: ****As always, my thanks goes out to those who are kind enough to review. Thank you.**

**Larger than usual chapter incoming. Do not expect more of this size anytime soon.**

**I am working on Chapter 19, and so in preparation for that, am putting out a call for Betas. The minimum I'm looking for is for someone to help me proof my work so I stop posting major errors. Any additional help is welcome though.**

* * *

Chapter 17: All You Fear

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was more than a little upset this morning. He had spent a large chunk of the previous evening getting chewed out by his Deputy who had devolved from her usual precise meaning to curse at him in her Scottish brogue. Something last night had apparently reminded her of how badly the Dursleys had treated his wea... er... Mr. Potter, and so she had spent the period of time from after the end of the Ball until she went to bed, taking her ire out on him.

It was so very hard to be him sometimes.

* * *

Harry was going over the list of just what he had in his bag (he was calling it the Terrible Tote of Termination this week... and it was a name that would not be making it onto the final list) as he was picking at what was left of a breakfast so large that Ronald wouldn't have been able to eat all of it, when the sound of someone tapping a utensil against a glass rang through the Great Hall.

Looking up from his plate, and being shaken from his contemplation, Harry could only really think of one word as he saw Dumbledore standing in front of the student collective.

_'Bugger.'_

Taking one last tap at the glass in his hand, the Headmaster began, "It is my pleasure to announce that today, November the first, is the day that the first portion of the third task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament shall take place. At a quarter of twelve the champions are to report to the Entrance Hall, dressed in their standard school uniform. The student bodies of the three schools can start to seek seating whenever they wish.

"Morning classes shall be canceled today, but punishments for those skipping afternoon classes shall be doubled. Now may you all enjoy the meal and the task that is to come."

Harry picked half a dozen languages and started swearing up a storm under his breath. He was now most likely going to be mostly unarmed, but with the rather specific orders for dress for the task hinted that they would be required to give up their wands, the likelihood of being more helpless than he had been in a long time was extremely high, and he did not like it one bit.

He really needed to work on the next generation of 'housing' for his bag. The concept was amazingly simple, but getting it to work was causing him enough consternation that he would randomly cycle through hair colors when he was working on it at times.

He'd never be without high explosives (among many other things) ever again, so long as he had his own clothing.

And while all these thoughts were racing in his head, he was ruthlessly throttling the semi-rational fear that this task may very well involve Dementors in someway.

He had a feeling deep in his gut that today would be a long day.

* * *

As Harry waited in the Entrance Hall, leaning against one of the walls, he shored up his mental defenses, adding whatever he thought would be effective against Dementors. Even there were not any actually there, the preparations would likely help him to last longer against whatever despair invoking effect the Tournament was going to throw at him.

At least that was what he hoped.

Cedric had already shown up and was pacing back and forth, muttering darkly to himself. Harry could feel Fleur approaching from the Beauxbatons section of the castle and Viktor was approaching the doors from having taken a turn around the lake after breakfast.

Madam Maxime was sitting upon a sturdy chair, filing and buffing her nails with an actual metal nail file. Harry had stared at that for a moment, then shrugged it off, Hagrid had a fair amount of resistance to spells, and so it was likely that if the Beauxbatons Headmistress used those spells, they likely wouldn't work correctly. But thinking of that, he had come across more than a few charms in a pair of books he had read on personal grooming. Having read them after getting some control on his metamorphmagus abilities, he had planned a few pranks on Draco that centered around making him appear to more of a dandy than he usually was, but he had been scared off by the amount of charms that the Malfoy heir had on his person dedicated to maintaining his appearance.

Along with questioning Draco's sexual orientation, Harry was of the belief that the Malfoy family magics were actually highly refined and powerful grooming magics and potions. And since Sirius didn't want to pay to get the Malfoy grimoire stripped of its protective spells, having gained the book when he had pauperized the family in the summer of 'Ninety-two, Harry's hunch was going to go unconfirmed for quite sometime.

Five minutes later, with all four champions present, Madam Maxime rose from her chair, vanishing it with a negligent wave of her wand and said, "You all must hand your wands over to me."

Removing his holster from below his neck, Harry approached the Headmistress of the French school and offered it to her. She took the holstered wand, placing it in one of the pockets of her robe, and made a quick but complex set of motions with her own wand, before flicking it up and down. He shivered as he felt some sort of detection spell wash over his magical senses. She furrowed her brow a moment later and repeated whatever spell she cast.

She was now frowning as she asked, "I'm getting a positive that's denoting you are part magical being..."

Harry sighed and replied, "Could being metamorph get you the result you are getting?"

The large woman closed her eyes for a moment before nodding, "Yes, yes it most probably could. Go stand by the doors."

The process was repeated with both Cedric and Fleur seeming to pass, both without any hiccups like Harry. Viktor however...

"Mr. Krum, if you would hand over the hold-out wand you have tucked into your right boot and the magical dagger you have attached to the underside of your left forearm, you will be in compliance with the state of armament for this task."

Harry barely heard the Bulgarian muttering a number of unkind, and rather naughty, things under his breath as he disarmed himself to the satisfaction of the half-giantess. She scanned him one more time before motioning him to join the other three.

"Now you four shall precede me down to the stadium, and there you will then be given further instructions."

* * *

As they walked down to the stadium, Cedric saw his fellow champions twitch slightly a few times, and knew he was twitching slightly, but Harry looked like he was going to descend into a panic at the first loud noise.

Even without a wand, Cedric was not too keen on watching the Gryffindor go into fight-or-flight mode. He knew Harry was capable of quite a bit of wandless motive magic, and given how much trouble seemed to find the teen, Cedric was willing to be one of his first reactions would to smash a threat.

He would stay as far from Harry as he humanly could for the duration of this task.

* * *

As they entered the field of the stadium, they saw that a small glass building had been constructed in the middle of the pitch. About twelve feet long on a side on the ground and eight feet tall, the glass was a semi-opaque gray, and the entire structure was more than a little forbidding.

Madam Maxime spoke from behind them. "There are four rooms within the structure. Mr. Potter shall enter through the door that is on the side currently facing us. Mr. Diggory shall take the left, Ms. Delacour the right, and Mr. Krum's entrance is on the far side. The task will begin on the gong, and you are to remain in the structure for as long as you can, with the tasking ending either in half an hour after the gong, or when the last champion still remains. You must state something along the lines that you are conceding the task in order to exit the building. You will also be deemed to have lost the task if you lose consciousness. Now please proceed to your doors and enter."

As the Headmistress of Beauxbatons had been speaking, they had gotten close enough to the structure to see that runes were carved upon the surface of the glass in such numbers that there was barely a single contiguous square inch that did not have a rune on it.

The four champions did as directed and entered the small structure. The inside was dimly lit, though there was enough light to make out details about the space. Each cubicle in the structure was square in shape and the walls were almost entirely transparent, save for dark black and blood red runes running along the surface of the walls, though they were larger than those on the outside walls, and did not impede vision much. The inside of the exterior walls were completely smooth as compared to their outside surface, and were also completely opaque.

As Fleur and Cedric entered, Harry grinned and said, with a bit of forced cheer, "At least we can't see any Dementors."

Cedric rolled his eyes and replied, as Viktor entered his chamber, "Well if we can feel them and can't see them, that will probably make the 'despair' of the task worse than it would be if we could see them. And I am going to state, for the record, that I wish Krum and I could switch rooms. No offense Harry, but I want to be as far from you as I can be when you descend into panic."

Fleur glared at Cedric as Harry chuckled and spoke, "I don't blame you one bit Cedric. Hey you guys want to see a new trick I've been working on for about eight months?"

As a gong sounded in the distance, the other three champions made their consent known. Smiling grimly, though he felt the walls begin to give off magic similar to Dementors, Harry extended his right fore and middle curling his other fingers and thumb into his palm, and while point at the ceiling, firmly said, "_Lumos orbis_."

A small sphere of moderately bright white light flickered in and out of existence where Harry pointed, and he repeated the spell two more times before a a sphere of light as bright as a sixty watt light bulb was floating near the ceiling of his chamber.

Viktor clapped sarcastically and said, "Quite the parlor trick Harry... How much wandless magic do you know?"

"Apart from my being able moving stuff and a barely satisfactory light spell that works one time out of three? Nothing," Harry replied while a shiver made its way up and down his spine. "Is it me or is it getting cold in here?"

Cedric, who was in the process of rubbing his arms, said, "What do you think?"

The four descended into silence.

* * *

Five minutes into the task, and a few of the champions were starting to show the strain. Cedric was doing push ups, while Fleur could not help herself from pacing back and forth in a rather precise line. Viktor was showing the least strain as he sat in the full lotus position and was apparently meditating.

She felt a little anxious, but Dementors did not effect Veela as badly as they did other sentient beings. Veela were at their core beings of primal emotions, and were more closely aligned with love, rather than lust as most of the global wizarding world thought. Though there were those that chose to embrace that lust, as it was a part of them, but it did lend them some strength, and by embracing it they could gain more strength from it. But she had always thought that it was a hollow way to live one's life.

She hazarded a glance over at Harry, who was currently prowling the room he was confined to like some sort of caged animal. The walls he frequently walked along were the two exterior ones, while he would occasionally cross the length of the room, from the far corner of one of the exterior walls to the other, he seemed to ignore the walls that separated him from his fellow champions.

As the floating point of light he had created flickered out, Fleur turned to Harry.

Seemingly aware of her gaze, he said, "No more lights from me. Taking most of my focus to keep my primary shields up. When those go down this, whatever it is., is going to flood through my mazes and labyrinths right through to my secondary shields," though he continued muttering to himself, she could not hear what he said.

* * *

Cedric had switched over to sit-ups as he tried to ignore how much Harry's little light had made things more bearable. He was glad that he had no traumatic memories for this to get a hold of, though he kept getting flashes from the previous two years, first with the terror surrounding the Chamber of Secrets and then the havoc and fear that came with the first breakout from Azkaban.

He glanced at Harry, wondering when the young Lion would snap. He also wondered if he would yell his concession or start attacking the walls of his cell.

* * *

Viktor sat calmly behind mental shields reinforced by the love he shared with his family and girlfriend, and the happiness that pervaded his life. He felt comfortable here, and was more than glad that he had learned the Patronus last year. Moreover, he was amazed that when he focused on the memories and emotions that drove the Guardian spell and directed the emotional energy to his shields that they protected him from the cold influence as well as his fully formed vulture Patronus would from the emotivores themselves. In fact he felt so calm and relaxed wrapped in his shields he...

* * *

The champions heard a voice announce, "Viktor Krum is out of the running at seven minutes, thirty-eight seconds, due to a loss of consciousness."

Bagman's announcement did not wake the sleeping Quidditch super-star.

* * *

Harry stopped in his prowling to glare at the napping Bulgarian. Here he was, cowering behind the walls of his central tower, and that... that...

"Did that bastard fall asleep?" Harry asked as a pair of seventh years of Durmstrang entered the cubicle and carried the sleeping seeker off. The look on his face promised that the elder of the Krum siblings would not live this down.

Fleur just stared in disbelief as a member of the competition took himself out of the running by doing so well at the task that he fell asleep. She shook her heard and turned back to the remained competitors.

Cedric allowed himself a light chuckle. Now if he could only outlast Harry and Fleur. He glanced at the French witch from where he was now doing jumping jacks, and saw that, after the now absent Viktor, she seemed to be the least frazzled of all of them.

He hoped that Harry would be the next to go, if only to cut into the commanding lead that The-Boy-Who-Lived had.

* * *

At the twelve minute mark, deep within Harry's mindscape, Fang looked around the council chamber. Bruce was curled up in the fetal position on the floor in front of his La-Z-Boy throne, sucking on his thumb. Morpheus was, for the most part, limply sprawled on his own throne, though he did on occasion twitch slightly. The central personality was sitting upon its own throne, though his knees were drawn up to his chest and had his arms wrapped around them, and was now rocking back and forth.

Fang had felt his higher thought processes slowly go offline as the other aspects and Harry-Prime sliped in the oblivion of unconsciousness.

The last thing the animalistic side of Harry Potter said was, "This will not end well..." shortly before control of their body fell into his hands just as he lost all capability of rational thought.

* * *

Fleur turned to Harry as she heard a rather angry growl come from the room where he was contained. Harry had stopped his prowling and was, from his posture, glaring at the wall in front of him. He was slouched slightly, and she wondered when he had discarded the robe that went over his uniform. The sleeves of his shirt had been folded back, and the flesh of his hands and forearms was... writhing.

* * *

Cedric watched in disbelief as Harry's hands transformed into wicked looking claws, though he was forced to clamp his hands over his ears as Harry started striking at the walls with his newly reformed hands. It was like nails being raked along a chalkboard.

* * *

A few minutes later, Harry had went back to prowling his enclosure, and Fleur caught a glimpse of his eyes. They looked almost exactly as they always did, though she just barely caught that the pupil was slit, like that of a cat or a dragon.

The reprieve didn't last long, as a moment after she got a look at his eyes, he started lashing out at the wall again with his claws, and the gouges were significantly deeper this time.

* * *

Cedric, having stopped his exercises at the fifteen minute mark, was now simply walking in circles, trying to stop from yelling out to end the task. He heard that horrible, but helpfully distracting, screeching stop, only to be replaced with a rhythmic pounding.

He stared at Harry, who was now pounding against the wall with his shoulder, seemingly trying to break down the wall using the part he had torn up with his claws as a weak point.

It was now minute eighteen, and he hoped Harry broke out before he passed out. He wanted to take second in a task so badly, he could almost taste it. But it was so very cold.

* * *

As minute twenty passed, Fleur could only watch in slight awe as a network of cracks had grown from where Harry was attempting to pound down the wall. Each time he struck it, the cracks grew longer and deeper, and she was certain the wall would...

With one last bash, the cracks started spreading at an amazing rate, and Harry jumped backwards as the wall, from the halfway point where the interior wall met it to the corner, shattered and fell to the ground. He was bounding out of his area of the structure moments later, followed by Bagman's announcement of, "Harry Potter takes third place of this portion of the task, having effected self release from the Chamber of Terror at twenty minutes, twenty-seven seconds!"

Fleur watched him run out of sight before turning her gaze to Cedric. Two silent minutes passed before the Badger slumped over, and the Head of the Department of Games and Sport called out, "And the first part of the third task is over! Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons is the last champion standing with Cedric Diggory losing consciousness at twenty-two minutes, and thirty-five seconds!"

* * *

Harry wandered back into the school an hour after the task ended, more than a little displeased with himself. Oh, he wasn't angry about coming in third in the task, a little disappointed, but he was thankful he didn't come in dead last. You couldn't win every time.

What he was upset was the fact that he more or less went berserk in front of the students and staff of three schools, a number of members of the international press, and those who managed to buy tickets to the task.

From what Fang had told him, and it was fairly vague due to the animalistic aspect having lost all his capabilities of higher thought for the later duration of the task, he had morphed his hands in claws and started attempting to tear his way through the outside wall. When that had failed, Fang had shifted the composition of the claws to something closely resembling diamonds before renewing his assault on the offending partition. He had then proceeded to bash down the wall once he had created a weak point.

Impressive, yes. Embarrassing as hell however. As he stopped in the Entrance Hall and wondered where his wand was, someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind.

Turn on his heel he found that he was looking at the German Ministry official... Rikhardt... Rikard... Richter!

"Yes, Mister Richter?"

The man spoke with a mild German accent, "Mr. Potter, as you were, not present, for the wrap up following this afternoon's event, I've volunteered to inform you of both the results and what the champions are to be told of the second event of the task," he pulled a white wand holster from his robes and passed it to Harry, "along with returning this to you."

"Thank you," Harry said as he attached the holster back to its place on his back, just below the base of his neck.

"Each champion was rewarded with points according to how long they remained within the confines of the task area, with Miss Delacour being the only exception having won the event and receiving a full thirty points. Mr. Diggory came in second with twenty-two points, and you in third with twenty. Mr. Krum, having actually fallen asleep part way through the task, received seven points.

"In case you were wondering, the effect Dementors have on sentients was replicated by the rune arrays that were covering the structure the event took place in.

"The four champions are to report to the stadium at quarter after eight tomorrow evening. There will not be an audience for this event. There are no specifications on what a champion may, or may not, bring, so I suspect you will come armed for bear."

All Harry did to answer the man was grin rather malevolently.

"You know, you are a rather frightening young man Mr. Potter."

* * *

Harry proceeded to avoid everyone he could the rest of the day by literally locking himself within his workspace. He'd sent a pair of notes (again with the origami flight charms) to Professors Flitwick and McGonagall stating that it would be unlikely that he would be attending class tomorrow, but that he would take whatever punishment they would hand out.

McGonagall had sent him three assignments totaling four and a half feet of parchment, while Flitwick gave him instructions to a quartet of rather esoteric spells that he wanted Harry to learn in place of coming to class. From the descriptions of the spells, Harry figured that they would be very useful in a fight.

Leon resting on the far side of the room. The shadow wolf had approached his bonded companion after the end of the that afternoons event...

_*Cub, I am going to be accompanying you on your next task.*_

Harry simply stared at the large black wolf for a moment.

_*I've felt a few of the things you are afraid that will come up during the task tomorrow, and I am not going to allow you to go about this alone. Hedwig is going to flame both of us out if things start getting out of hand...*_

A trilling song was heard from the other side of the room, and Hedwig could be seen with her head stuck in an open drawer, trying to get her beak on the treats Harry kept there.

* * *

After the fifth boy in a single hour had asked her to the Yule Ball with a glazed look on his face (he was the second that particular hour to have a bit of drool hanging from the side of his mouth), she had stormed off in search of a certain member of the tri-school populace.

She was damn well going to be able to enjoy the next ball or there would be hell to pay!

She had finally heard that he had surfaced from having disappeared following the first part of the task yesterday. She found him out by the lake near a tree, practicing with a wooden sword that resembled a gladius.

He was wearing the same black coat, pants, and boots he had been from the first two tasks, but he had apparently switched out the simple t-shirt for a blood red shirt with a high collar.

She briefly wondered how many weapons Harry had on his person at this moment.

As she approached him, she flicked her wand several times, ensuring that there would be no interruptions, and no witnesses, to the coming conversation.

* * *

Harry glanced around as he felt a dozen privacy and notice-me-not charms go up in the area around him. He saw Fleur striding toward him. She had a kindly smile set on her face, but there was a gleam in her eyes that he couldn't quite identify, but Fang was screaming for him to make like a tree and leave. Leon was watching from where he was laying by the lake with wry amusement.

He started backing up, glancing from side to side in preparation to run like hell, when he completely forgot about the tree he was near. That is until he walked right into it. Fleur flicked her wand, and he found himself restrained by wooden vines that appeared out of the tree.

He whimpered as he thought, _'This isn't going to end well...'_

"Now, Harry, in the past two days, I've been asked to the Yule Ball two dozen times by males that are adversely affected by even the smallest amount of Allure. All of them have had glazed eyes and were stuttering, and a full third of them had been drooling at some point before asking me, with a half of that third still having being in said process," the Veela said, in a firm but polite tone that still managed to raise the hairs on the back of Harry's neck in dread.

He briefly wondered if this was her being polite while she was upset, what the hell was she like when she was angry. After a moment of contemplation, he was fairly certain that he didn't want to know.

"Now, you are going to take me to this Ball, and quite possibly the next one. You are going to be a gentleman, and you are going to dance with me. It is going to be a most wonderful evening."

"But..."

"My robes are a bluish-silver satin," She continued on, ignoring his attempted interruption, as she looked him over, "I would suggest you wear some dark blue dress robes, though dark green would not be objectionable either. A dark crimson would be best however, it would compliment what I am going to wear quite nicely. I don't think you would do well in bright colors however."

"Don't I..."

"And if you are a good enough partner for this Ball, you are going to take me to the Valentine's Day Ball and save me the trouble of having to deal with the male population of three schools. And if you are suitable company for that event, I may even allow you to take me out on a date afterwards..."

"What if..."

She narrowed her eyes at his third attempt to break into the conversation, and Harry had the sudden feeling that he had absolutely no say in anything Fleur was talking about. As she glared at him, Harry hung his head and muttered two words.

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled brightly and kissed Harry on the cheek, as she turned around to leave she said, "Magnificent, you will meet me in the Entrance Hall fifteen minutes before the Ball starts... I expect a corsage that suits my dress robes."

Harry watched, bemused, as Fleur walked off, before shaking his head. To no one in particular, he said, "Women are strange."

He then turned to Leon and growled out, "You could have helped me."

Harry heard a rumbling chuckle reverberate across the bond as Leon said, _*But then I wouldn't have __been able to see something so very amusing...*_

* * *

As she barely stopped herself from skipping away from Harry in a most undignified manner, she started singing under her breath, "One way or another, I'm gonna find ya, I'm gonna getcha getcha..."

* * *

As Harry made his way into the stadium, flanked by Leon, a few minutes before the second half of the task was scheduled to start, he was patting down his coat and pants, running through a mental checklist of just what he had stored where on his person. Most of his worst fears involved violence, and he was more than prepared to turn whatever he was going to face into a fine paste.

As he found the other three champions already waiting, he recognized the man from the previous afternoon.

Nodding as Harry came closer, Mr. Richter said, "For those of you who do not know me, I am Niklas Richter, the Head of the German Department of Magic's International Relations Ministry. One by one, you will be led out onto the field. Perform to the best of your abilities in whatever situation you find yourself in. I wish you all good luck. Miss Delacour, if you would follow me please."

As Fleur walked away, all three of the remaining champions started pacing, each worrying about just what they would have to face. Leon just made himself comfortable, watching and waiting. After about ten minutes had passed, Harry asked, "So, who has an idea at what you are going to be up against? I know what Ivan has always been telling me what his brother's greatest fear is."

Viktor glared at the other famous teen and said, "And just what has my brother been telling you frightens me the most?"

Harry smirked, and replied, "Rabid fangirls."

Both of the Hogwarts students saw Viktor fail to suppress a shudder. "Ja. That would do it. What of you Potter?"

"Dark Lord Potter, Dark Lord Voldemort, or an eldritch abomination."

Cedric just looked at Harry for a moment with a strange look on his face before asking, "Dark Lord Potter?"

"Hey with what I am capable of, the thought of a me gone Dark is just terrifying. Now fess up, Ced, what scares you the most?"

"Zombie Apocalypse."

Krum turned to the Hufflepuff and just stared at him with an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"I kid you not, gentlemen. My mother took me to see a filming of Romero's classic Night of the Living Dead as a sixteenth birthday present, and I've been absolutely terrified of the thought of infectious Inferi ever since. If anyone ever comes up with that, it's game over, man, game over!"

As the three young men descended back into silence, and waited for whatever horror they would have to face.

* * *

It was a little over thirty minutes after this, with Cedric having been led away less than five minutes after they had talked about what it was they feared most, that Harry was called to follow Richter. Leon rose and walked at Harry's left as they went out onto the pitch.

Harry felt thirteen columns of magic arranged in a loose oval around the pitch, and they gave off a similar vibration to what he vaguely recognized as that belong to a boggart.

As he and the Tournament official stepped out onto the field, Harry saw that thirteen pillars placed around the field were the source of the magic. The pitch was also completely covered in a moderate mist, making it difficult to see more than five feet in front of him.

At the edge of the oval formed by the pillars, Richter stopped and said, in a far too eerie voice, "Good luck Mr. Potter, you'll need it..."

As he walked forward stepped between two of the pillars, he felt what seemed like a wave of dread wash over him. Shaking his head, he knew it was the magic the pillars were putting off, and it was trying to unnerve him. So, he muttered to himself as he drew his wand, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here..."

He jerked to the side as he felt magic, horrid, _deadly_, magic fly at him. His eyes widened as he saw a bolt of lurid green energy pass through the space where his torso was a few moments ago.

_*Leon, hide **in** the shadows, hit and run tactics, only when you are certain you can do damage.*_

_*Aye boss!*_

Harry advanced upon the magical signature that was firing upon him, dodging a pair more of killing curses. He swept his wand in an arc around him, muttering a wide area wind spell while pumping more magic than necessary into it, clearing the pitch of the troublesome fog. And standing in front of him was... Himself.

His doppelganger's skin was far paler than his own, somehow managing to be paler than the pure white robes he wore. They were the type he favored, open at the front, revealing a killing curse green shirt, black slacks, and basilisk hide boots identical to his own. His double's hair was as his hair used to be, short and all of it as black as ink, completely uncontrollable. The biggest difference between himself and the Dark Lord Potter however was his eyes. The sclera and irises of both eyes were pitch black, while the pupil was a vertical blood red slit.

Smiling sadistically, he said, "It is good to meet... me."

With a grim look on his face the real Harry twitched his left hand, activating a duelist's shield around his left hand and forming three small, mobile shields behind his back. "Sad to say I can't say the same."

"Your familiar abandon you? That's why I shattered the bonds before they even finished forming. Why should I offload some power when a myth says that it will only drive me insane? They'll all just abandon you in the end anyway..."

Harry felt Leon send a pulse of anger directed at the Dark Harry down the bond, and could tell that he was attempting to flank the young Dark Lord.

"_Avada_..."

Harry cut himself off by starting to fling spells, cutters, bludgeoners, piercers, mixed with mildly debilitating hexes and curses. The dark reflection of himself started moving at a speed Harry could only match if he was willing to hurt himself, and dodged the vast majority of the spells, deflecting a few curses he could not outright dodge before counter attacking.

Using his left hand and the three shields to block what he couldn't dodge, he continued casting with his wand in his right hand, laying down enough spellfire to keep his darker self from going on a full offensive, though with the amount of return fire he was getting, he wasn't going to be able to get off any heavier shots without an opening.

* * *

Under a powerful invisibility charm, Filius Flitwick watched as one of his favorite students of the '91 cohort fought himself. He, like any good Ravenclaw, had been curious as to what the worst fears of each of the champions would be. Ms. Delacour's fear had been quite understandable for a being of her nature, and he did not begrudge her having to go first, and thus having kept her fear a secret from the other three champions.

Flitwick glanced over to where Fleur and Cedric were sitting, watching the Harrys in awe.

Mr. Diggory had been most afraid of a world filled with almost naught but Inferi, Inferi capable of turning the living into more walking dead. He quite understood such a fear, and was almost certain that he would have a few nightmares in the coming months featuring that scenario.

But what Harry, who was so like Lily at times, was most afraid of was apparently a fall. His own to be specific.

For fourteen year-olds, both of the Harrys were quite skilled.

* * *

Getting a feel for his opponent's patterns, Harry started slipping in wide area wandless banishers in an attempt to catch his dark side flat-footed. After about a minute of the increased pace and finding that his doppelganger was just as capable at dodging as he was, he summoned up a pair of illusions of himself, and put some distance between himself and the evil that was Dark Harry.

Muttering a spell under his breath while making a complex series of thirty wand motions, Harry raised the masking charms that were attached to his clothing, hiding his magic presence. Finishing the spell, he made a motion similar to casting with a fishing pole, lobbing what appeared to be a small dense orb of clouds into the air above the pitch.

He threw himself to the side as some kind of dark curse, he silently cursed the fact that Bella had wanted to wait until next summer to start him on identifying dark magics, sped toward him, he growled out a laugh as the orb detonated, filling the pitch not with the mist it had before, but a thick bank of fog.

He heard his double cry out in pain, and Leon reported, _*Hamstrung the bastard in his left leg. Left some magic in it, so if he has your healing rate, it should be sufficiently slower.*_

_*Thanks Leon, stay out of sight until I draw all his attention again.* _Harry replied as he ripped off his right glove, stuffing it in a pocket. He reached into a pocket on his right hip to pull something out.

* * *

The nascent Dark Lord Potter cursed as he tried to repair the damage that damn wolf did to his leg, but it was slow going. He was also muttering general finishing and canceling spells, and a few other counters, as he worked on his leg. He had already tried a few small wind spells just to see if the bank of fog could be shifted but it was a complete wash. Now that his goody-goody self had hidden his magical signature, hidden in fact far more effectively than his own was, he silently cursed at himself, this fog was more to his hindrance than the earlier mist had been a speed bump to his foe.

Growling in frustration, he roared out the spell effect destruction charm, "_Annihilis Incantatum_!"

* * *

As Harry heard himself rather stupidly shout out a spell that, while useful, has more than four dozen spells he knew of that have catastrophic fail-deadly components that activate when the S.E.D. Charm is attempted on them.

The Fog of War was just one of those forty-eight spells.

Finishing pulling the white glove onto his right hand, Harry drew up the neck of his shirt, which fit snugly over the lower half of his face, from just below his eyes and above his nose, tapering off to not cover his ears, and waited a fifteen count for the fog to clear.

This much Fog decomposing into hydrogen and oxygen would be a little hard on his lungs. Luckily the runes on the lining of that part of his shirt that was serving as a half face mask. He grinned as his evil self came into view, coughing up a lung.

"Who's the badass now, dumbass?"

Dark Lord Harry glared up at his original self as he attempted to raise his wand. Harry Potter, Lily's baby boy, however was quicker on the draw and raised his white gloved hand that had a runic circle that was glowing red on the back. He smirked as he snapped his fingers and the pitch was consumed in a burst of flames.

* * *

Flitwick watched in concern as his student seemingly prepared for a rather self-destructive combination of spells. He felt concern twitch in his gut as the entire Quidditch pitch went up in a massive fireball. He glanced over at the other champions, and saw a look of deep worry on Mr. Diggory's face and one of abject horror on Ms. Delacour's.

Glancing down at a set of mirrors placed at his feet, mirrors which showed the visuals of the Judges observation spells that he had, as he thought of how he had achieved it he smiled at his own skill in doing so, hacked into.

In one mirror, the Dark Harry had apparently countered some of the damage done by expelling a large amount of magic as the explosion manifested, but was still suffering from burns all over his body. His student had completely escaped harm by apparently raising a spherical shield the moment he had triggered his devastating attack. In the smoke Harry drew something from the small of his back and threw it at his foe, and from the speed it was moving it, had used his wandless magics to make the throw more dangerous.

Was whatever he threw crackling with electricity?

* * *

As Evil Harry was now coughing even worse from a combination of pain and the massive amount of smoke from the explosion his Light, which in his mind was no longer a derogatory term, having seen his better half blow both of them up, side had made, he felt something... dangerous being launched at him and lurched to his left, and barely avoided being bifurcated from crotch to crown by a gladius literally glowing with electricity.

Distracted as he was, he didn't notice as the shadow wolf materialized out of the darkness fostered by the smoke bank, and launch itself at him from behind.

* * *

As Leon savaged his prey, Harry launched himself forward at the fastest speed he could, whipping his wand back and forth three times as it sprouted a whip of sizzling green electricity. He'd replaced the fire portions of the flame with spell with the electrical sections from the strongest shock spells he could find.

He heard a yelled, "You damn wolf, get OFF me!" Followed by the sound of a wide area concussion spell. As he neared his enemy, who had his back to him, he whipped his wand forward, and the electrical whip wrapped itself around the Dark Potter's neck once... twice... three times, before he violently changed directions, garroting his foe with enough force to make him eligible for the Headless Hunt.

As he panted and watched the body dissolve into motes of light, he was only barely aware of the smoky haze being blown away. He was however forced back into awareness when he heard clapping from behind him.

He turned to face the source of it. There was a man with tousled black hair, dressed in formal looking black robes and a cloak. His features may have been handsome once upon a time, but they had been blurred until they more resembled a snake's than a human's and his eyes were red, with vertical slits for pupils.

"Congratulations on defeating yourself, young Potter. It is one of the hardest tasks any must face, but sadly, you have a harder one ahead of you. For now you must face me," the man said as he pulled a yew wand that was a little over thirteen inches long, and brandished it at The-Boy-Who-Lived.

* * *

:.: _A Few Hours Before the Second Half of the Task._ :.:

"Now, Master Tim, if you would please explain exactly what the Champions will be facing," Albus Dumbledore calmly spoke, "when you were contracted to prepare both events of this task, you said that you could design objects that would perform to our specifications, but the details of exactly what they would do would need to wait until just before they were used."

"Yes," Tim the Enchanter replied, "using what I outlined for the earlier event as an example, I made it so that the Dementor effect would slowly increase over the full time frame of the task. In this case, true terror comes from not knowing when the fear will end, so the thirteen columns will result in three separate scenarios. One where the champions will face the worst they fear about themselves, another where they will face their most terrible enemy, and the last will be a situation that is something out of their nightmares."

Madam Maxime cleared her throat and asked, "And just what order will these terrors occur?"

Scratching the back of his head sheepishly, though there was a dark gleam in his eyes, Tim said, "I can't rightly say, it all depends whether the champions are most afraid of themselves, their foe, or their fears. Though the system will try harder with each scenario to undermine the champions will to continue."

The French Ministry official asked, "I assume that it will gather what it needs to know from the minds of the champions?"

Tom smiled and nodded, "Yup. But if there isn't enough, it will take what it can from whoever is in range, which I think is about five hundred yards, could be more."

* * *

:.: _As Harry Walked into the Circle of Columns_ :.:

Tim glanced down as runes comprised of light and darkness flickered across the pane of crystal glass in his hand. He glanced over at the judges and said, "Face yourself."

The panel of judges was seated high up in the stands of the stadium, but they could easily get detailed views of the actions, no matter what on the field blocked their line of sight, through the large mirrors each had before them. These mirrors were designed to show a number of images, at most four, of what was happening down on the field.

As the fight between Harry and himself proceeded, the mirrors showed three different visuals, one of Harry, the second of his darker side, and the third jumped to random views of various shadows, and the reason for it became apparent as a fully grown Shadow Wolf wounded Dark Lord Potter.

The duel was of middling length, though surprisingly viscous, the dark Potter relying a number of rather ugly dark curses, every third one seeming to be a variant of the organ rotting curse, while the real one seemed to favor a mix of the three physical effect spells, while slipping in the schoolboy spells that while easily ended would debilitate his foe if they hit.

When Harry pulled off a gambit to end the fight, his combination of fog, fire, and electricity so close together awed a few of the judges, though he frightened all of them when he seemingly blew himself up.

As Tim looked down at the pane of glass in his hand as Dark Harry's body dissolved, and a foot thick ring of red energy appeared around the top third each of the rune carved pillars he spoke again, the object in his hand filled edge to edge with runes written in darkness, "Face your enemy."

The booth filled with gasps as a few present recognized the man who was on the field.

"I sincerely doubt my system will be able to accurately recreate a Dark Lord at full power... This will likely be a comparatively weak imitation of the bastard..."

* * *

Dumbledore was silently thankful that his plans had not led to the young man facing these challenges being like the version of himself he had just faced. That Harry in white robes had thrown around dangerous dark curses like they were disarming spells. That was no self-sacrificing hero of light,which he readily admitted he was currently out of, but a Dark Lord who could be just as bad as the one who preceded him, quite possibly worse.

Tom Riddle had just wanted to take control of the Wizarding World. Given how Harry had been treated his entire life, he likely would not have settled for anything less than turning the Earth into a dead husk in his rage, if he had gone dark.

But now, here Harry was, squaring off against an admittedly weak copy of the man who ruined his life. Albus wondered if Harry would give into his anger.

* * *

Igor Karkaroff wet himself as he saw the image of the master he betrayed appear down on the field. He was glad that it was only a simulation. In fact it was the only thing keeping him from running like hell to the hiding place he had prepared in the Alps.

If this young man actually managed to hurt the clone of the man he now feared so much, he may very well start scoring him fairly for this and the other four tasks.

* * *

Jean-Paul Delacour had been allowed by his Ministry to be the representative for this task. There were actually no rules for the judges panel about who could, and could not, sit on it, so long as they held an appropriate position. He had no clue what the task had been when he volunteered, but it now seemed like every other task was planned by a mad man. Dragons, then an obstacle course. These rune powered machines of madness, and he had already been tapped to officiate for the fourth task.

Diggory's attempt at the task had actually resulted in the field containing a small section of London that changed as Cedric attempted to escape from the city, all of his attempts at disapparating failing because they were on the grounds of Hogwarts.

For some bizarre reason, time within the circle of rune carved pillars was altered so that fifteen minutes passed for every ten with in it. So for one-hundred and fifty minutes he had run around downtown London, fleeing from zombies and using a large number of dangerous large scale fire spells, until he had eventually ended up boxed in by his own flames.

His daughter's worst fear had been seemingly far more simple, yet, if only to him, infinitely more painful than a zombie Apocalypse. She had been dropped into a world where she was all alone, and no could remember her moments after meeting her, even though every male in existence in her world seemed to be getting a triple dose of her Allure. She had lasted fifteen minutes before giving up.

But he had watched in some trepidation as Harry walked out on the field. He was somewhat fond of the young man, and didn't want to have to watch him get turned into a smear by a simulacrum of Dark Lord Voldemort, he doubted anyone present had wanted to see that. He was quite entranced by Harry's battle with himself, as violent as it was.

He had gotten better since he had seen the young man over the summer.

But he paled as he heard the enchanter say what Harry was facing next. The Death Eaters and their Master's lesser minions had made two raids over the Channel before the French had started watching their borders like a hawk, and they had still slipped over two more times to raise havoc but they started killing the teams on sight on that fourth attempt. They had later learned that it had been the least members of Voldemort's marked followers who had made the attempts on France and the dregs of his unmarked, and he merely wanted to know how the French would respond.

Now, this would either be worth watching, or he was going to want to _Obliviate_ himself afterwards.

* * *

Olympe Maxime had never seen the Dark Lord Voldemort before, but when the words 'face your enemy' and the boy Harry Potter are combined together, that monster could be the only result. She had been surprised that his worst fear had been of himself, she had expected to have already seen him facing the Dark Lord. She had watched his little duel with himself with interest. She was a teacher not a fighter, and knew little more about magical combat than what she learned in school. She already knew that even though he had taken third in the first part of this task, he would likely be taking first in this part.

* * *

Niklas Richter had heard horror stories about Death Eaters from refugees who had fled from Britain during the unrest caused by Voldemort, but all of those stories had centered around the servants to the Dark Lord, and they fear they caused. So few people saw him that the fear the common people had of the demon that could control so many monsters was massive.

And here he was, watching a boy, one he had admitted frightened him and had more than vindicated that fear in the fight with his darker half, face off against the Dark Lord tales said he defeated when he was only fifteen months old.

He cursed the name of whoever thought up this task. School-children, whether of age or not, shouldn't have to face their worst fears like this.

* * *

Amelia Bones had been tasked to be the British Ministry judge for the third task. Crouch had been increasingly ill over the past few months, and someone, no one was quite sure who, though if she was a gambling woman, she would put good money on Sirius Black, had unmasked Bagman as owing large sums of money to large amounts of people. He had been given unpaid leave until he could answer the question of why he was putting Ministry/Gringotts relations in trouble by having a senior Ministry official get deep into debt with the Goblins.

She had been rightly horrified, and oddly enough upon looking at the other judges found that she had been joined by the politicians in this and not the educators, at what the task would comprise of. The fact that Harry Potter had gone, feral, for lack of a better word and escaped from the task area for the first event spoke volumes of how insane these two challenges were.

Now, she was seeing the Boy-Who-Lived face down a man that she had sincerely hoped was dead before the reappearance of what could have been his spirit back in '91.

She had encountered him once on the field toward the end of the war when she was a Senior Auror. He was already engaged in combat with Dumbledore when Aurors had arrived on the scene of an attack on the gates of Hogwarts, and the fight had lasted for five more minutes, the two Mages causing more damage than she would have ever believed possible.

This was going to get ugly.

* * *

Filius Flitwick had known that Harry could beat his dark reflection. If he was assuming correctly, the reflection would be as skilled as Harry, if only in different areas and concentrations, and from what he could gather from Harry's grades, he was mostly a generalist when it came to the official school subjects, leaning towards defense-oriented charms and spells with the knowledge coming from school leaning mostly toward focus creation. And his dueling style relied heavily on dodging and his shield focus but seemed to lack actual mobility.

He was obviously getting some, decent, tutoring at home, and had a good grounding in the basics, but if Tom was still extant, Filius wasn't sure you could call a disembodied spirit alive, like the appearance of his malignant spirit indicated before the Sorting Hat had ejected it from it Hogwarts as Minerva said had happened, then Lily's boy was going to need some heavy teaching in magical combat against an opponent vastly more experienced than him, and soon.

He was also glad that he had won the coin toss he had had with Minerva on who would sneak in to watch this task. As hard as it was to watch, he knew that Harry was going to need his help. It was an absolute pity that the young man wouldn't be able to get it until after the Tournament.

* * *

Cedric was still coming down from his own fight with fear when Harry came out onto the pitch, but from the attention he did pay, there was no way in hell that he was going to duel with the Gryffindor. And he cursed when Harry actually seemed to win the task... Only to be confronted by a very strange looking man who leveled his wand at the Boy-Who-Lived. But after remembering Harry list the three most possible things he would fear the most, Cedric Diggory paled to a color roughly resembling freshly fallen snow.

* * *

Fleur had been braced with a Cheering Charm after she had finished with the task, and now she had watched Harry fight a dark version of himself. It was more than a little off-putting to see the Mad Gryffindor who usually had a happy little smirk on his face flinging dark curses around. She wondered how close Harry had been to ending up like that if it was what he feared most.

She was worried when Harry proceeded to engulf the entire field in a massive fireball, though it was noticeably thicker around where Dark Lord Harry had been and thinner where Harry was. She couldn't see what was happening until the smoke blew away, and Harry was facing off with some man. She tried to think, who would Harry fear the most...

She then remembered that there were no photographs or paintings of the Dark Lord who had torn Britain apart more than a decade ago.

* * *

Harry took three deep breaths and then pulled on his magic, opening his connection to his core just short of where it would start to cause him pain and damage from having too much magic in his body. His eyes started to softly glow and then shine outright, his hair started moving in a non-existent wind, and for about fifteen seconds pieces emerald and gold light, the colors of his magical aura, would appear in the air around for a moment and then disappeared.

Having empowered himself as far as he felt safe, Harry decided he didn't want to annoy the double of the Dark Lord, and said evenly, "Hello, Tom."

What would have probably passed for a smirk crossed Voldemort's face and he replied, "At least you have some manners, young Potter. Now bow so we may duel. I may only be a simulacrum of myself, but I still do not like to be kept waiting."

As Harry sketched a minor bow he asked, "You know you're not real?"

Voldemort returned the bow and replied, "Of course I do, I'm not a fool. Now, this is going to be a lesson to you, so do try and keep up. It will be all the more enjoyable when the real me crushes you if you are at your most skilled."

The Dark Lord threw a quick trio of curses at Harry, who launched himself sideways, but didn't hit the ground again. Instead he hovered half a foot above it as seven shields of seven different hues sprang into existence in the air around him, each shaped like a rose petal and were about two feet wide and three and a half feet tall. The shields lazily circled around him.

Voldemort smirked once more. "Very good young Potter. Now this duel shall be accompanied by a lecture so do," he started punctuated his speech with lazily casting spells, starting with a bone breaker curse aimed at Harry's wand arm, which was intercepted by a pale red shield, "pay attention."

"Now, many duelists and other people who make a living in magical combat have any number of things that they believe are essential knowledge, but almost all of them agree that one set of information is universally ascribed with 'need-to-now' status. Now, what do you think that is, young Potter?"

Harry, having switched from his ground based style that, while fairly oriented toward dodging spells, kept him in a circle of space about five feet across, to his quasi-flight based style where he never stopped moving, was making sure to keep up an erratic enough pattern of movement around the stationary Voldemort, thought for a moment on that question. He had sent a few spells to test the man's defenses, but they were shielded without issue.

Taking a guess, he answered, "The Three Three-Fold Pillars of Magical Combat."

"Very good, young Potter, very good. But it is one thing to read what the Pillars and their aspects are, and another to experience them. The First Pillar is the Pillar of Force. It is the Pillar that espouses the virtues of strength in magical combat, and its first side is named, **POWER**. The ability to fight fire with fire..."

When Voldemort put emphasis on the third to last word, Harry snatched his wand from his hand in a flow of telekinetic force, began putting distance between himself and the Dark Lord, and reached behind him into one of the pouches of his bag to grab something. As he pulled a red rod seemingly made of ruby from the bag, Voldemort stressed the last word, and there was a flicker of purple light at the end of his wand. As a cylinder of ugly purple fire two feet in diameter sprang from the yew wand.

Harry jabbed his Blasting Rod forward, releasing his own massive torrent of flame. The two fire blasts met halfway between the warring wizards, and vied for supremacy for a moment before deciding to just detonate. Harry had thrown himself backwards as he sensed the magics of the two fires interfering with each other, and one of his shields, this one a dark blue, doubled in size in front him, protecting him from the concussion of the blast.

As Voldemort came back into sight as the smoke cleared, they started exchanging spells again.

"Most adequate, young Potter. Though I am not at my full strength, you managed to match my Arcadian Fire, even if it was with a secondary focus. The next side of the First Pillar is Speed. The speed of your casting, the speed of your movements, the speed of your thoughts, and the speed of your," he punctuated his comment by waiting until the last moment to deflect a jinx with his wand, "reactions."

The smirk Voldemort gave as he finished this segment of his lecture had Harry moving as fast as he possibly could, his body a half a foot from, and parallel to, the ground. If it wasn't for the fact that he did this sort of stuff for fun on a broom, some of the maneuvers he pulled once Voldemort unleashed a barrage of back-to-back spells would have made him lose his lunch. The stream of spells tapered off, and Harry pulled himself back into an upright position.

"A pass, acceptable as it barely is. You completely abandoned offense in order to ensure you did not take a hit. While there are occasions where that would be acceptable, the first thing I said was about the speed of your spell..."

Voldemort was forced to shield as a burst of half a dozen of the weakest piercing spell came his way in a tight grouping, followed closely by a chain of hexes and jinxes that were each about three-quarters of a second apart.

"Extra marks. From a low A, almost a P, to a high A, nearly an E. Now the Third, and Last, side of the Pillar of Force, your Spell Arsenal. The more spells you know the more you can do, even if a spell is just barely in your arsenal..."

The Dark Teacher started firing spells again, and each burst of spellfire was a different color, and Harry somehow knew, a different painful way to die. Harry ran through a chain of spells he was still in the middle of perfecting and decided to give it a shot.

He started firing off the spells that all fell under one family, the Elemental Curses. With four branches of strength each consisting of thirteen spells, it was going to be one of the larger parts of his quiver of spells. He unleashed all thirteen of the Lesser curses at Voldemort, interspersed with seven of the Minor curses, five of the Major ones, and punctuated with two of the Greater curses, the Flame Missile and the Shockbolt.

Voldemort countered the chain as the spells were in the air, meeting fire with water, ice missiles with flames, bolts of electricity with lightning rods conjured in midair, and negating bursts of wind with his own elemental wind curses.

"An O, young Potter. Most definitely an O. Casting seventeen of the fifty-two, let alone chaining them together, is no mean feat for a fourth year. You understand the First Pillar in its entirety, but here is how it should be done..."

Harry gathered himself as he saw a wave of Elemental death heading his way, all fifty-two of the Elemental curses, from Least to Greatest, barreling at him, his red shield intercepting the fastest four of the curses, shattering when Voldemort's Greater Shockbolt hit it. He scattered his remaining shields out of the way of the wall of attacks and disillusioned himself, waited until the last moment, and then he flung himself skyward, going over the spells that would have dropped him from the task. He shot up fifty feet into air the pulling a stick of dynamite from his bag, disillusioning it before lighting the fuse and banishing it at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort got caught in the blast.

He landed, if returning to a half foot hover can be called landing, canceling the disillusionment, to the sound of clapping behind him. His shields gathered back around him, and he took the chance to restore the destroyed shield.

"Good form, young Potter. Very sneaky. Now onward, to the Second Pillar, the Pillar of Finesse, the pillar where it is not brute strength that matters, but how you use what little strength you have. The first side of this Pillar is Skill. It is how aptly you can cast what spells you have, and the uses you can put them to. It is the ability to master the spells in your arsenal until they are second nature to you."

He started casting dark curses again, this time only sticking to half a dozen, each one placed so that Harry had to dodge by the skin of his teeth or just barely managed to shield. Harry began waving his wand in a circle unleashing an unending torrent of the weakest two piercing spells he knew at Voldemort, occasionally slipping a blasting curse in among the stream of weak magic.

He managed to shatter Voldemort's shield at one point, finally forcing him to move, which he did with unnatural quickness.

Smirking once more Voldemort continued to speak, "Very nice, young Potter, very nice. Now the next side you have demonstrated yourself to be very capable in. Mobility. The ability to position yourself properly on the battlefield," after which, he disappeared with a crack, Harry spun around, pulling something from his sleeve, orienting himself with a flare of magic, throwing the object he had just pulled at the magic, while moving sideways, dodging a Killing Curse that came from where the Dark Lord appeared behind him.

He scored another hit on the Dark Lord, this time drawing a thin line of blood as the shuriken he threw gained a glancing hit.

"Now you're probably wondering 'How did he apparate on Hogwarts grounds?'..."

Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Wasn't expecting it, should have been. Of course my 'nightmare' Voldemort would be capable of things like that."

Voldemort let out an evil little chuckle and said, "You take all the fun out of it. Any matter, the last side of the Pillar of Finesse is something which you do not yet have much of, though this battle is granting you vast quantities of. What is it?"

"Experience."

"Just so. And the example of experience being a deciding factor in magical combat is you are pushing yourself as far as you feel you safely can, and I am barely breaking a sweat. And if you combine them all together."

Voldemort disapparated again, and Harry pointed his wand skyward, while moving in a zig-zag, muttering under his breath. As Voldemort reapparated, Harry yelled out while adjusting his eyelids to blind him, "_Solaris Novis_!"

A massive burst of light, brighter than the sun, appeared ten feet in the air, blinding everyone watching. Voldemort continued to apparate around wildly, firing magic at where he thought Harry was, which Harry used his mage sense to dodge, moving around wildly, spells coming at him from everywhere.

"Excellent, young Potter. You deducted what I was about to do, and countered with enough cunning to make me think that the trim on your school robes should be green instead of red... "

Harry interrupted him to say, "The hat and I decided against putting me in Slytherin, the body count would have been far too high."

"A pity."

The two combatants started slowly exchanging spells again, with Harry once again being mobile while Voldemort stood still, as the Dark Lord continued to lecture, "Interesting. Now, back on topic, we move forwards to the final Pillar, the Pillar of Enhancement. A Pillar you have showed the use of in spades. The first side, Tools, is shown in that lovely ruby rod you used earlier, that explosive you used following my conclusion of the first Pillar, and the throwing star you cut me with. The second side, Special Abilities, has been shown in the wandless telekinesis you use, the mage sense I suspect you have, and the metamorph abilities you demonstrated in the first event of this Task. The final side of this Pillar is Cunning. The ability to out-think your enemy on a moments notice, to make him do what you want him to do or counter him at a moments notice in a way he would never suspect. You did just that with your Nova Light spell, with which you made what should have been the ultimate display of finesse into a blind man shooting at ghosts.

"But all three Pillars must be tied together. And there is a foundation to all Combat, whether Muggle, Magical, or Mental, and the Foundation of All Combat is Tactics, the ability to strategize and plan to overcome an enemy and achieve your objectives!"

Just as Voldemort finished his explanation and coiled himself to finish this farce of a duel, a black blade, crackling with electricity erupted from the shoulder of his wand arm. As he stared for a moment, uncomprehending as to where the blade came from when Harry was in front of him, something sharp and metal hit him in the chest just barely missing his heart.

Tossing his wand to his good hand, he raised it, seeing Harry point a thick rod made of polished amber and iron at him. It crackled with electricity, and then Harry jabbed it forward, yelling, "Fulminaris!"

As the bolt of lightning began to rip its way from the rod, the shadow of Voldemort lazily conjured another lightning rod. The bolt struck the lightning rod, traveled a short ways down it before jumping back into the air, and then continued going forward, impacting around the heart of the simulated Dark Lord, instantly dissolving him into countless motes of light.

Harry dropped back to the ground, and instantly fell to his knees, his shields dissolving, starting to feel the mental fatigue and physical exhaustion from running on an adrenalin high. He called back a small piece of metal that was laying on the ground right where Voldemort was, and the sword he had pulled into the man's shoulder, the same one he had thrown right before he had killed his double.

He looked down at the length of metal, the sharp half of a railroad spike, and muttered, "You're getting made into a good luck charm," turning his attention to the amber rod, which had the head end of the railroad spike just past the grip, he noticed that there were cracks running along the length of the rod, "Thank god for thaumaturgy..."

Now that it was in sight, the sword, which which seemed to be composed of obsidian with veins of copper running through the weapon, was identical to a Roman Pompeii gladius. He slipped the weapon in the flexible (and smaller than it should be) sheath that ran along his lower spine.

Still gathering himself, he felt the ground beginning to shake and he cursed. It wasn't over yet. Thankfully, he still had some fight left in him. And he tried to think what sort of form the horror that was going to rear its ugly head would take...

He grinned. No matter what he thought of, one thing kept popping into his head. It would be an absolute horror to fight, considering the type of combat magic he tended to rely on, but by Merlin if he pulled this off right, he would at least fight this thing with a smile on his face.

He let his wand get taken from his hand by his telekinesis again as an object dropped from each of his sleeves.

* * *

Flitwick sat back and watched, wondering when this was going to end. The middle third of the pillars had gained a green circle of light to go with the first red one. He was surprised that the doppelganger of Voldemort had turned this into a lesson, but it saved him from having to teach that very same lesson to Harry. By any objective measure of a fourteen year-old, Harry had a firm grasp of the Three-Fold Pillars, and implemented them on a level that was fairly surprising. By any sane measure for anyone, his use of the Third Pillar was exemplary.

'_Though he uses different tricks, and far more tools, he may just be on close to the level that I fought at when I was his age...'_

He watched as Harry almost literally dragged himself back to his feet, a staff enlarging in one hand and a gleaming sword seemingly made out of one hunk of silver in the other. As he settled himself into a standing position, he saw Harry leaning heavily on the staff. He watched bemused as Harry's clothing shifted to a bulky set of simple gray robes, a gray pointed hat with a bit of a crumpled tip and a wide brim, and he seemed to grow a gray bushy beard.

The part-goblin started giggling.

* * *

The ground fifty yards from Harry fractured, and then exploded outwards. He set his feet, and raised his staff, channeling a shield through it. The few fragments of rock that would have hit him bounced harmlessly off the silver dome of magic.

_*Stay out of this Leon, this foe is beyond you.*_

_*If this thing is so bad, why aren't you quitting?*_

_*Because, I want to at least try...*_

As a demonic head, seemingly made of stone, flame, and shadow, with cruelly curved horns showed itself, Harry slammed the butt of his staff into the ground. The face was broad and ugly, looking completely inhuman. It dragged its body out of the ground, and though it had a tail, its fingers were clawed, had two wings that were made entirely out of shadow and fire, and its feet more resembled a bird's talons, it was humanoid in shape, save its proportions would have made any bodybuilder jealous. It stood a good ten meters tall, and Harry was really worried about just how he would damage this bastard.

_'Gandalf was one of the Maiar and he died felling a Balrog... Thankfully however this is being simulated would probably explode if it completely recreated a Balrog._

_'I hope...'_

* * *

There were those watching who knew they were practically seeing a scene unfold from a story, a gray wizard facing off against a demon. And then they heard a voice ring out.

"You cannot pass. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass."

* * *

Harry barrel rolled through the air seven feet to his left half a moment after he finished his little speech, his costume dissolving, and the Balrog's massive fiery sword slamming into the ground where he was moments before, tearing a massive trench.

"Okay, note to self, do **not** get hit with the big ass sword if at all possible."

He sprang forward, disappearing as the flame demon's whip tore half a dozen smaller gouges in the ground where the last Potter had been. From where he was to where he now stood as far as he could get from the monster as possible, were two long sections of destroyed ground, one angling him around the Balrog that was thirty feet long, with a gap of clear ground where he turned and got back up to speed before the second led to right where he was standing.

"God I love the Ghost Step, if only I could shorten my stride to something less than ten yards," he saw the demon glaring at him, "Most days, I hate being me."

He had shrunk his staff down to a foot and a half long before stuffing it into his pack where he could easily grab it, and stored the sword back where he got it from. Metal discs started dropping from his sleeves into his hands, and he was throwing them at his distant foe faster than they could get out of whatever storage he had them in. As the thrown projectiles hit their target they exploded, the Balrog being obscured from view ten seconds after the first exploding disc hit it.

A minute of constant thrown destruction later, Harry was panting slightly from all his exertions so far. He was now massively aware of the fact that running laps around a Quidditch Pitch was an entirely different monster, and he meant it in every sense of the word, than being in a protracted fight.

"I highly doubt that brought that tosser down," he muttered.

His opinion was answered by a massive roar and a single beating of the beast's wings as it clear the smoke. It then started lumbering towards him.

_'Thank Merlin that he is as slow as treacle on a December morning... Mmm... Treacle...'_

Shaking his head, he dropped to one knee, pulling a brown paper lunch bag from his sack. Opening it, he deposited one of the items from the bag into a pocket on the left breast of his coat, dumping the rest of the contents, a pile of what looked like pitch black clay and three long, thick silver needles onto the ground.

Using his telekinesis, he quickly reshaped the clay into a narrow triangular wedge, sticking the three needles completely into the hunk of clay. A silver rune carved cylinder with rounded ends dropped from his left sleeve, and he brought the base of the triangle of clay to one of the ends of the silver cylinder.

The clay was quickly covered in something that remotely resembled mercury, before the liquid metal solidified into a spearhead. He ran a hand along the collar of his robes, activating the heat protection spells layered into the leather and his other items of clothing. The Balrog had closed half the distance between the two of them and was gaining speed.

The silver weapon sprouted a five foot long haft, which Harry took in both hands before launching himself at the demon, getting to his top speed in a matter of two and a half seconds. He moved laterally out of the way of a strike from the Balrog's whip, before launching himself in the air at the creature's chest. Jamming the spear into a collection of cracks created by his earlier barrage of explosives, putting more power behind the strike using his telekinesis, he gave his weapon a twist, separating the head from the weapon. He launched himself off of his enemy, only to be swatted from the air with the flat of the Balrog's sword from a backhand swing.

He used his abilities to make sure he didn't hit the ground too hard, though he did end up on the other end of the pitch, rolling on the ground. Dizzy, he pulled himself shakily to his feet, wincing several times as he realigned the ribs that were damaged by the hit. His armor took most of it, but it still did quite a bit of damage.

He chuckled darkly as he leaned on the silver haft of his spear, pulling what looked like a black Zippo from his left breast pocket. Flipping it open, he quietly said, "Boom," before triggering a rune array in it.

There was an earsplitting roar of pain from the Balrog as a section of its chest exploded outwards.

* * *

Tim the Enchanter could not have asked for a better field test of his design than the workout Harry Potter was putting it through right now. His first fear had tested the Dark Mirror features perfectly, his second had stressed the arrays to create as strong a magic user as possible, and his third and final terror was now seeing just how much raw power his creation could handle.

* * *

"Oh, I was right. Getting hit with the sword was a really bad thing..."

Harry quickly ran through his armory, trying to figure out just what he would throw at this beast next. Most of his heavy-duty destruction relied heavily on fire, and it was only the explosive discs and that plastique he had just used were the only heavy explosives that he had that didn't rely on incendiary damage.

He made a mental not to get off the 'kill it with fire' kick he seemed to be on.

When it came down to it, he had three more stunts that he could pull off, one of which he was loath to do, just for the simple reason that he didn't want to take another hit from that sword. So that left one spell that had a fifty-fifty chance of either working or blowing up in his face, and would either put him dangerously close to, or outright in, magical exhaustion either way, though either way, the results would be some spectacular destruction, and an act that would probably cause even more wanton destruction that would put his first current plan of action to shame.

His hand slipped to his bag, and he pulled and enlarged his staff.

The smoke around the Balrog cleared, and it was now sporting a crater halfway through its chest.

Harry took a deep breath, and started channeling his power through the staff, aligning it with the spell he was about to perform. The runes carved into the dark wood of the latest attempt at perfecting his staff design started to glow a frigid light blue as it pulled in ambient magic to empower whatever spell was about to be cast, even as Harry started to feel his hand tingle and then burn as the focus forcibly drew more magic from him.

He started softly chanting, his eyes half closed in concentration.

"_Let the mists rise and roil_

"_And hear the winds howl in night,"_

The Balrog was angry, and it roared out its rage, assaulting the ear drums of everyone present. Only a few of the judges noticed as the air stirred around the demon.

"_The frigid storm rushes ever onward_

"_Winter's bite wounds deeper each time,"_

The swirling of the air became more apparent as the cold mist started billowing up from the ground, being drawn skyward by the quickening currents of wind around the Balrog. It roared again, and flared it flames. Harry's voice was quickly gaining volume.

"_The night sky and the cold stars stare down_

"_From the tundra the white wolves howl for their lost,"_

Chunks of ice began to form as the vortex of wind and mist grew colder and tightened around the beast. Harry's right hand was in a death grip on his staff, which now had wisps of smoke coming from it, and his left hand was pulled into a painful looking claw shape, pointed at the magic he is doing.

"_For the wicked have dared to sow chaos into the four winds,"_

The whirlwind of ice and freezing winds closed even further onto the Balrog, battling directly with its flames, as the freezing mist thickened, hiding it from view. There were blades of ice the size of large tree branches being tossed around by the winds. Harry swayed slightly on his feet at the effort of maintaining the spell, and wisps of smoke were now rising from his right hand.

"_So now the evil shall have to reap the whirlwind's destruction!"_

The fire demon could be seen flaring its flames through the haze of ice and mist, but to little effect. Harry started bleeding from his nose, ears, and eyes at the strain of completing the spell.

"_**Arctic Maelstrom."**_

Seven massive spears of ice formed and launched themselves into the maelstrom of frozen destruction, as Harry dropped down to his knees. He looked at his right hand, which had already started healing from the damage done by the staff drawing so much of his magic. He was thankful that he had learned to disengage the pain receptors in any of his limbs, or otherwise he would likely be feeling what it was like to have the skin and muscle on his hand cooked by magic.

Breathing in through his nose, he muttered, "And as a note, cooked me does not smell all that good..."

He was vaguely aware that he was in the middle of something important, and that it had something to do with the enemy that he just used some of his heaviest artillery on. The specifics were eluding him at the moment, so he shook his head and shoved it aside, he'd deal with it when there wasn't a threat present.

Looking up as the mists of the Chanted Spell dispersed, his first foray into that particular field of nearly abandoned battle magics, he saw that the fires of the Balrog had gone out, and it was wounded, swaying drunkenly from side to side. Massive tears in its rocky body could be seen.

It also looked to be in an absolute fury. Groaning as he felt the magic restore his hand enough to pry his fingers from the staff, though he was still loosely holding it in that hand. He reached into his bag with his left hand and pulled out a pair of topaz spikes, each a quarter of an inch across and seven inches long.

The spikes were telekinetically driven into each of the ends of the staff, and Harry gestured with his mostly unresponsive right hand, holding the staff, which was now crackling with electricity similar to the faux-lightning bolt he had used in the Second Task, like a javelin.

He smiled darkly. This was one of his weapons of last resort, and this damned demon was going down. Hard.

* * *

Flitwick blinked once, and then twice, as his Goblin-given magical senses registered just what it was Mr. Potter was planning. He launched himself, mirror showing Harry in hand, at where the two other champions were sitting, charming a piece of chalk to draw a circle around them, desperately muttering under his breath.

Any magic designed to stop an effect from crossing a certain physical point is defined by the number of syllables it has. Anything shorter than ten is defined as a shield, anything longer than the same number is a barrier. Wards were a whole different subject matter.

Reaching the twenty-first, and last, syllable of the Prismus Barrier, Flitwick bit into his thumb as he crossed the chalked circle he had drawn. He touched his bleeding thumb to the drawn line, a pulsating wall of prismatic light rose up around the two seventeen year-olds and the Charms Master.

* * *

Albus blanched as his charmed glasses translated the magics coursing through Harry's staff into the visible spectrum. He activated the prepared protection wards surround the judge's box, and those surrounding the pitch.

A wall of opaque gray magic rose around the six judges and one enchanter.

* * *

Harry grimaced as he felt the magic reach a crescendo, and launched the staff, which now looked like a trapped lightning bolt, at the Balrog, before spinning away and crouching down.

* * *

Flitwick stared down into the charmed mirror, Ms. Delacour and Mr. Diggory looking over his shoulder, as the ring on Harry's left hand glowed like a star fallen to earth before he was obscured by the thirteen layers of the Bunker Shield Charm far more quickly than should have been possible, raising themselves around him in a golden coruscating shell of protective magics of a different, but comparable, kind to the barrier he had just raised.

* * *

In the Great Hall, where dinner was being served a little later than usual, everything and everyone was jarred as a massive explosion shook the castle.

* * *

**A/N2: And the rewrite is nearing its end. Next chapter is as yet untitled, but it is finished and is the end of the revision. The first brand new chapter is started, but it is what originally drove me into a complete wall, and so it going to take some work.**

**Wish me luck, please.**

* * *

**Legacy:**

**This is what used to be chapters 42 and 43 of The Sorting Hat's Stand.**

**As of 8 PM, 28 November, 2012 these were the statistics of those chapters of the story. (Word and Character Counts are by Open Office Writer and do not include chapter titles, book headings, or author's notes, each section break however is four characters: [br].)**

**Chapter 42:**

**Word Count: 7,012 | Character Count: 38,458 | Hits: ****28,432** ** | Reviews: 106**

**Chapter 43:**

**Word Count: 7,551 | Character Count: 41,519 | Hits: ****37,231** ** | Reviews: 205**

**Totals:**

**Word Count: 14,563 | Character Count: 79,977 | Hits: 65,663 | Reviews: 311**

**New Total Word Count: 14,931 | New Total Character Count: 82,154**


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